


Helping Hands

by tisfan



Series: Imagine Tony and Bucky 2016/2017 [5]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies), Winter Soldier (Comics), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Accidental Drug Use, Alcohol Abuse, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bisexual Bucky Barnes, Bisexual Tony Stark, Bucky as single father, Extortion, Family Drama, Frottage, Gun Violence, Happy Ending, Kidnapping, M/M, Masturbation, Nude Photos, Panic Attacks, Past Sexual Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Postpartum Depression, Poverty, Rehabilitation, Suicide, Violence, Virgin Male, Vision is the name of the band, asgardian cats, past drug abuse, poverty tourism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-05
Updated: 2017-04-05
Packaged: 2018-08-27 04:22:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 68,925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8387023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tisfan/pseuds/tisfan
Summary: Single-father and disabled military vet, Bucky Barnes goes to the Food Pantry... where he meets Tony Stark, serving a community service sentence...





	1. Hand to Mouth

Bucky hated going to the food pantry. He tried to arrange his trips for mid-morning, the best time to avoid seeing other people. Even when they only stared because of the prosthetic arm, they were still staring. He’d done his best to conceal it with long sleeves, even in the middle of August and god, it was fucking hot and humid as shit and he could barely breathe, much less think in heat like this, but it was an older model and it still clicked and whirred as the servos that were connected to his nervous system activated to move the arm.

It was good that he had two arms; caring for his son when Steve had been an infant had been hard enough as it was. The doctor had explained to Sarah that Steve’s pulmonary condition was not going to get better and that he’d probably be weak and sickly most of his life, and that his care was going to be outrageously expensive, and that had been enough for Bucky’s beleaguered wife.

She’d already been dealt a hard blow with Bucky coming back from Afghanistan minus one arm and carrying a load of PTSD, flashbacks, and rage. Having a kid was supposed to bring them together again, but the pregnancy had been hard, and then she’d been hit with a brutal case of postpartum depression that wasn’t diagnosed until it was far too late. Bucky would have gotten her help if he’d noticed, but he had been so wrapped up in his own head that he hadn’t, and that would haunt him for the rest of his life, because after the doctor’s diagnosis for Steve, Sarah -- Sarah’s _depression_ \-- had concluded that she couldn’t live with _two_ broken men and had shot herself in the head with Bucky’s service pistol. It had been about three days after Steve’s first birthday.

About a month after that, Bucky found out that Clint -- Sarah’s brother and an attorney -- had nominated Bucky for a grant to participate in the last-stage test trials for the bionic arm. He wished Sarah had lived long enough for that, since it had eased the burden a lot. Maybe she could have held on just a little longer. Long enough for him to realize that she was suffering, too.

As it was, installing the bionics and going through all the testing had been time consuming, occasionally painful, and difficult. Good thing Clint was a stand-up guy and didn’t blame his brother-in-law for Sarah’s death. Clint claimed that Sarah was just as much a casualty of war as the men Bucky had known in Afghanistan who’d come home to be buried instead of to a pittance of a pension and shitty medical insurance.

But people still stared at him. The bionic limbs had been made available to the public some three years after Bucky wore one of the first ones, but they weren’t common, not just yet. They were hideously expensive, and too new for most insurance to cover.

Which made it all the more unpleasant when Bucky was at the public service offices, or in line at the food pantry. Surely someone who could afford a six-figure replacement limb did not need to be picking over the shitty food choices at the Helping Hands Food Pantry. And Bucky couldn’t just accost everyone whose eyebrows lifted at the sight of his shiny metal fingers and explain that he’d been a labrat, that the free maintenance for the arm that had been part of the testing program had ended once the trials had concluded, and that these days he lived a balancing act between keeping the arm functional, keeping Steve in meds, and keeping the both of them fed.

Worse, Stevie was allergic to peanuts -- eventually, Bucky was going to take time off from his shitty life, track down some pharmaceutical CEO, and cut her heart out for raising the prices on Steve’s epi-pens, because that shit sucked rocks and Bucky could barely afford the pharmacy copays as it was -- and half of what the food pantry stocked was peanut butter, peanut butter crackers, and various granola bars that contained, you guessed it, peanuts.

The rest of the choices were depressing as shit.

Green beans, and not even the normal, firm kind, but the French cut shit that Steve would complain were mushy. Peas, corn, and tinned pineapple. Why did everyone always give pineapple to the food pantry? Seriously, would it kill people to donate a can of peaches for a change?

Bucky grumbled. The rule for the food pantry was one box per family, per week. And unfortunately, toilet paper was taking about about a third of his box already. At least the household consisted of only two men, because they’d gone through a lot more toilet paper when Sarah was alive. Bucky flinched at the thought -- a recent development in his depression, maybe, where one part of his brain would remind him of all the things that were easier because Sarah had died, and then the rest of his brain piled on the guilt and self-loathing.

A good sized bag of rice, some tins of black beans, and wow, someone had donated a bunch of those little spice envelopes, that was great. Poor food, Bucky had noticed, was always bland. He grabbed four of the packets -- technically, he could have taken them all, but felt like it wasn’t fair to other families who came in later in the day -- and headed to the checkout.

The volunteer yawned at him; a good-looking man a little older than Bucky, obviously suffering from a hangover, with a nametag that read “Tony.”

The man looked familiar, but Bucky couldn’t place from where -- definitely not here; Bucky usually remembered the names and faces of the volunteers. Tony was wearing a pair of battered jeans, a t-shirt for some obscure band that Bucky had never heard of -- Soldiers of Winter -- an unzipped hoodie, and a pair of bizarrely tinted glasses. “‘Morning,” Bucky said, not because he wanted to, but because as a rule, the volunteers expected him to be polite, subservient, and grateful, a mix of emotions that personally made Bucky want to puke because none of this was his fault. Except that it was.

Tony nodded, not speaking. Not even really looking. He poked listlessly at his phone, acting more like a sullen teenager than a man who had to be on the wrong side of thirty-five. 

Bucky laid his box on the counter, the arm whirring contentedly to itself. What did it know?

That got the volunteer’s attention; he looked up sharply from the phone and looked around quickly before homing in on Bucky’s hand. Bucky tensed up; the other patrons were sometimes silently judgemental, but some of the holier-than-thou volunteers weren’t so quiet about it.

But Tony just looked excited. “Oh, wow,” he said, “you have a StarkTech arm. How’s that working out for you?” He looked delighted, and actually interested in Bucky’s answer, and his smile did painful things to Bucky’s belly.

He hadn’t been treated entirely like a human being since before the war. Even when he managed to hold down a job, his bosses tended to treat him like an extension of the arm, rather than the other way around. “Expensive,” Bucky said. “I got it on a grant--” He hated admitting that, but he hated the “poor people use welfare stamps to buy drugs” attitude worse, so it had become the first thing he led with. “--and that was great, but that money ran out years ago, and the maintenance costs are killing me. Can’t not get it maintained, though, because the last thing I need is a thirty-pound chunk of useless metal hanging off the side of my body.”

Tony glanced up, looking startled. He actually met Bucky’s eyes -- that was rare; no one wanted to look into a poor person’s eyes, because it might be contagious or lead to the horrifying realization that they were actually people. “Really? That’s… well, that’s a shame.”

“Yeah, thanks,” Bucky said. He actually kind of meant it. Tony’s sympathy sounded a lot more sincere than most. He finished unloading his supplies from the pantry’s box so Tony could scan them, and then loaded them into the reusable bags he brought with him every week.

Tony picked up a box of fruit jelly snacks. “You like these? I saw a couple more packs in the back before you came in; I could get them for you.”

“M’ son is fond of ‘em,” Bucky said, and Tony’s brilliant eyes dimmed a little. 

“You married?”

“Widower,” Bucky said. “M’ wife died about six years ago.” Died. That was nice. Vague and unspecific and neat, not splattered all over the nursery with Steve sitting there in his crib, and not understanding and crying for his mother. Yeah. That would make cheerful small talk.

Tony nodded. “Stay right there,” he said, and actually walked backward out of the main area to keep an eye on Bucky, as if he was terrified that Bucky would vanish the instant Tony stopped looking at him.

Right, sure. That would be good. He could take his food and leave without signing for it, and then that would be another food source dried up. Bucky did night-shift work guarding a local self-storage facility, but the pay sucked and the hours were terrible. Bucky thanked God every day for public school and that Steve was now old enough to go, because trying to work nights, take care of his son, and still do necessary human things like FUCKING SLEEP had been horrible. Between his job and his benefits, he managed the rent, about half of the medical bills and enough to fool the utility companies into thinking that one day they might get paid in full. But he and his son had a powerful need to eat, too. Bucky couldn’t afford to get on the pantry’s blacklist. Not even after school started back up and Steve could get free breakfast and lunch there.

He scrubbed his metal hand through his hair and ended up with a squeeze at the back of his neck. Things were getting pretty damned desperate, he knew, and he might just have to bite off the rest of his pride and ask Clint for help. Again. God, that sucked. Bad enough perfect strangers knew he was a fucking deadbeat who couldn’t keep food on the table, skipping out on the rent and trying to find an even cheaper place to live, but to go to Sarah’s brother, who had every reason to hate him and didn’t, and ask for a fucking handout, made Bucky want to puke.

At least he had that option. Bucky’s other brother-in-law, his sister’s husband, would probably slam the door in his face and then try to have Steve taken away from him. Again.

Tony walked into the doorframe on his way back in, smacking his shoulder so loud that Bucky winced in sympathy. 

“Oh, it’s okay, you can laugh,” Tony said, then held up a hand, which contained a box of fruit snacks, “but if you do, you have to go get me a cup of coffee.”

Bucky stared for a moment; there was something coy and sly in the way Tony said it, which made him wonder if Tony was flirting with him. Of course not, who the hell flirted with an impoverished, obviously ex-military widower with a child? Even if Bucky had both of his limbs, he never expected anyone to flirt, especially not a guy. Which wasn’t a problem, exactly. Bisexuality was a thing, after all, even if Bucky’s was mostly theoretical, because he’d never been with a guy, he just liked to check them out and fantasize about them when he was masturbating.

Tony was a pretty man, with fantastic hair, a high maintenance beard, and lovely brown eyes. The sort that Bucky liked, really. 

He realized he’d just been standing there, staring, when Tony said, “Ooooor, not, I guess. Sorry, just… Look, the judge gave me a hundred hours of community service and absolutely could not be talked out of it, and I’m not even used to being up at this time of day. I mostly work at night. I almost got lost on the way here. My license got suspended for six months, too, so I had to take the subway, which I never do. So I didn’t have time to grab breakfast or a joe, and I have the worst fucking headache, and it was, you know, sort of a joke, and sort of not? But if you have more important things to do, or you’re such a homophobic twat you can’t even handle a guy half your size flirting...”

“I can get you a coffee, for fuck’s sake,” Bucky said, shaking his head, “if you shut up for five seconds and let me get a word in edgewise.”

“Shutting up is not a thing I have any experience with, at all,” Tony said. “But please. Coffee. Get yourself one, too.”

“How do you take it?” Bucky asked, mapping out the few blocks to the nearest Starbucks on his cell (another gift from Clint, sigh).

Tony made a strangled sort of noise and when Bucky glanced up, he wasn’t sure what he was seeing, but Tony was making a strange sort of face, like he was trying not to laugh. 

“Um. It’s hot out, so just get me a bucket with an iced latte in it, please?” Tony said. He dug around in his pocket, pulled out a Starbucks gift card. “There’s like… I dunno, a hundred dollars on that, probably. My secretary gives me gift cards to Starbucks all the time, but mostly I use my machine at home, so…”

“Why does your secretary give you gift cards you don’t use?” Bucky wondered, turning the card over in his hand a few times.

“The same reason I buy her very expensive shoes that she only wears once? I dunno, it’s a thing we do. Feel free to grab yourself one, while you’re there.”

Bucky looked up and without thinking, said, “I love you.”

“Really?”

Bucky felt himself blush furiously and considered just throwing the card at Tony and walking away. “I… sorry. Coffee’s expensive. I’ve been drinking out of an 8 o’clock dehydrated coffee crystals jar for about a year now. On the plus side, it never gets any _worse_ , but it was never anything more than caffeinated dishwater to start with.”

Tony finished inventorying the box of food, and Bucky left the canvas totes at the counter. He stared down at the card again, then headed for the Starbucks. Whoever Tony was, he was definitely out of Bucky’s league, flirting or no flirting. Gift cards he didn’t use and his own secretary that he admitted to buying expensive shoes for? Yeah. Bucky packed away any possible daydreams in that direction. Never going to happen. But maybe he could snap a photo and use it to spank off to, later. God, that man was pretty.

Arriving at the Starbucks, Bucky shuffled along in the line, eyeing the possibilities. When he got to the register, he handed the card to the cashier and asked, “Can you tell me how much is on there, please?”

The girl, half her head shaved and the other half dyed blue, nodded, swiped the card, and pointed at the display for him, her expression indicating that he was a moron of the highest order. Bucky almost choked. “About a hundred dollars”, his muscular buttocks. Tony had almost seven hundred dollars on the card. _Jesus. Fuck_.

It was wrong, so very wrong of him, but… he hadn’t eaten today, the store smelled like pastries and coffee and… Seven hundred, rarely if ever used. Tony hadn’t had breakfast either, right? Bucky got two coffees in the biggest sizes, plus a half dozen of the bearclaws. He could eat a few and bring the rest back to Tony as a surprise.

He inhaled one of the pastries before the barista could even get the coffees ready, which was good, because he couldn’t figure out how to hold two trenti-sized drinks and a bag of pastries, and eat one at the same time. He had two working hands, but he wasn’t a freaking octopus.

By the time he’d walked the two blocks back to the food pantry, his coffee was gone and he was eyeing Tony’s with a covetous expression. On the plus side, he was completely and totally awake for the first time in… oh, three years, maybe? Mainlining caffeine. It should totally be a thing.

He walked back in, put the coffee down at the counter and sat the bag next to it. Tony appeared delighted and poked a curious hand into the bag. “Oooh, bearclaws,” he exclaimed, helping himself to a huge mouthful and chewing with obscene amounts of groaning and sighing. He licked his fingers and Bucky nearly added his own groan in there. 

“Love you back,” Tony said. Or at least, that’s what Bucky thought he said, as Tony had a mouthful of pastry and wasn’t bothering to finish chewing before speaking. Bucky was, however, the father of a seven-year-old and he spoke fluent talking-with-your-mouth-full-ese.


	2. A Hand Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The man had been gone for more than twenty minutes before Tony realized that no point had he actually remembered to get the man’s name, and commenced calling himself all sorts of names. Shit. Shit shit shit.
> 
> He peered at the scrawl on the inventory sheet; the man had been left-handed (well, sort of, the bionic replacement was on his left arm, and the older models weren’t particularly good for tasks that required fine motor control, like writing) and the signature was… J-something, scribble, B-something. Well, it was something to go on, at least.

Tony watched the single dad leave after they completely devoured the bag of bearclaws, and damn, it was painful watching someone eat like that, as if he expected at any moment to have the food snatched away from him. 

Judge Fury had been adamant that Tony Stark, billionaire, philanthropist, drunken asshole, and golf cheater, deserved to spend some time doing actual community service, rather than just throwing money at the problem the way he usually did. It really sucked ending up in front of a judge that wanted to screw your foot to the floor because he’d known your father and was trying to keep the son of an old friend from killing himself out of sheer stupidity. They’d negotiated and yelled at each other and Tony had put all sorts of lawyers on it, but in the end it came down to one hundred hours of community service...

Or jail. 

And even in a posh, upper-class sort of resort jail, Tony… didn’t think he could handle that. He was a jittery brainiac with all sorts of bad habits, anxiety, and chronic insomnia. Going to jail would be like going to rehab. But worse. And Tony had done rehab once and it had nearly killed him. Not the detox or any of the stupid therapy, but the sheer fucking boredom. 

Six months of jail, that would be _torture_. There was no way. A hundred hours of community service, though; that was twelve and a half eight-hour shifts doing… street cleaning. Walking dogs. Whatever. Had to be better than jail. And he had over a year to do the hours, so… one day a week for three months. He could survive that.  

Probably. 

The man had been gone for more than twenty minutes before Tony realized that no point had he actually remembered to get the man’s _name_ , and commenced calling himself all sorts of names. Shit. Shit shit shit. 

He peered at the scrawl on the inventory sheet; the man had been left-handed (well, sort of, the bionic replacement was on his left arm, and the older models weren’t particularly good for tasks that required fine motor control, like writing) and the signature was… J-something, scribble, B-something. Well, it was something to go on, at least. 

“Hey, Pepper,” he said, lightly. “Yes, I’m still at the job, my god, stop fussing. Do something for me and I’ll get you those boots you had your eye on, hmmm? Couple years back, when we were doing that testing for the bionic limb replacement, do you remember? Yeah, can you get me a list of the recipients? Why? Whaddaya mean, why? First off, because I asked and I’m your boss. Secondly, because I’m your  _ boss _ . Third, because we’ve done a grave disservice to one of them, and I want to see if the others are in the same boat, because we should definitely fix this. Pepper, the list. On my desk. Tomorrow morning. Yes, I plan to be on time. Oh, shut up.”

***

Tony flipped through the files, groaning. This was bad, it was so bad, and Stark Industries was lucky that reporters weren’t actually journalists these days, because if the press got hold of this shit, he was so screwed. 

Of the original ten bionic recipients, all veterans, all tested positive for nerve adaptation and cluster-concentration (and therefore ideal candidates for the bionics) only four still had functional prosthetics. The grant money had been redirected to other projects, by Stane’s hand. God damn the man, he’d been in jail for two years now -- _not_ a posh resort jail, Tony had seen to that -- and Tony was _still_ digging out shit that he’d done.  

None of the recipients had been wealthy -- wealthy people were rarely motivated to sign up for experimental medical studies -- and the maintenance of the units was highly specialized. Unless they could scrape up travel money to go to New York or Florida and get Stark Industries to do the work, they were forced to find whatever local doctors were willing to do the work -- and those doctors as a rule, charged an outrageous amount to do even the smallest of maintenance and service upgrades. And even if you could get to a qualified SI location, there were still some service charges that, even if reasonable, probably meant some big holes in those sorts of budgets. 

Three had the limb removed when the costs had proved greater than the benefits, one had died of unrelated causes, and another had been murdered and the prosthetic stolen, possibly by the tenth, who might have known how to detach it without ruining it, and was currently missing. 

Some of the better marketplace insurance companies were finally covering the newer bionics, heavily influenced by deep discounts on the part of Stark Industries, but those were for the officially-released, FDA-approved models, which had a great deal of the maintenance automated and user-enabled. James Barnes, the man from the food pantry, had the last of the pre-release models; he would require heavy maintenance work to keep the limb functional. A note in his file indicated that his brother-in-law, Clinton Barton, of Barton, Murdock, Nelson, and Reed, attorneys at law, had paid for a great deal of the work to date.

“Why did I have to find this out the hard way?” Tony asked, voice cracking as Pepper walked into his office on her ridiculous heels, her pencil skirt a particularly flattering shade of green. 

“I don’t think any way would have been easy, Tony,” she said. “It’s terrible what’s happened to these people. We meant it for the best and we just made their lives harder.” 

Tony rubbed his temples, mentally thanking Pepper for rubbing salt in the wounds. Not that his wounds of guilt and despair and overwhelming anger were anything like the wound Mr. Barnes had suffered, or suffered still, looking underfed and desperate at the local food pantry. 

“Get a project team on it,” Tony said. “Present it to the board as a potential PR problem if they balk, but I want solutions proposals by next week, with plans to move forward next quarter. At a bare minimum, I want to see some kind of reasonable upgrade package for these people.” 

“Tony?” 

“Yeah?”

“Are you sure you don’t have a personal stake in this?” 

“It’s my company, Pep. We were supposed to be helping people, not bankrupting them,” Tony snapped. “Of course it’s personal.”

Pepper just looked at him, her expression showing that she quite clearly knew there was something he wasn’t saying.

“Look, just because the guy’s cute doesn’t mean anything,” Tony said. “I’d have felt the same way if it was Ms. Knight who came into the pantry.” He waved another file around, indicating the military contractor who’d been injured by crossfire during an eight-month stay in Somalia. She’d taken up work as a police officer in Harlem, and from everything Tony understood, she was good at the job. She could afford the maintenance, but he had an idea of a policeman’s salary and the cost of living in New York; she probably worked a lot of overtime. 

“It means the guy is cute, Tony,” Pepper said. “And he’s a single father, who’s dead broke. I just don’t want to see you get hurt by getting involved with another guy who’s only after your money.” 

Tony made a disgusted noise. “Don’t be a snob, Pep. It’s unbecoming.” 

*** 

Monday night was another endless cocktail and dinner party with some of the wealthiest business owners in the country. Pepper was his date -- again -- because Tony really hadn’t bothered to get a new one, even though he and Pepper had broken up almost a year ago. She humored him, and said that it was really easier for them to be friends when she could just ignore his bad behavior than when she was dating him and took it personally. 

She was wearing a salmon-colored, off-the-shoulder original Versace gown, which shouldn’t have gone with her strawberry blonde hair, but did anyway. For just an instant, Tony looked down at his arm and wished there was a different hand there instead; a gleaming, silver hand, the sleeve a slim-fit tux instead of a bare arm with an expensive bracelet. He sighed. There was no way an ex-military, single-father was going to be the least bit interested in livening up Tony’s evening at one of these mindless affairs. 

Tony just wanted someone to talk to who was _interesting_. And none of these people were; they were too busy making money and deals. The sort of people Tony’s father liked, and not at all what Tony wanted, but hey, he puffed air out of his cheeks through pursed lips, then slapped on his press-smile. Time to go piss people off. What fun!  

“Mr. Stark,” a familiar, brightly antagonistic voice spoke and Tony had to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths before righting his smile. 

“Judge Fury,” he said, “how nice to see you, and so remarkably soon after our last meeting.” He could normally go months, sometimes even years between bumping into Fury casually at a party. Which meant this was not a crazy random happenstance. Pepper tightened her fingers on Tony’s arm and his grin became a little more fierce. 

“How goes life among mere mortals?” Fury said, taking a sip of his champagne, looking rigidly powerful in his bespoke suit. 

“Educational,” Tony said. He let the waiter pass him by without picking up a glass, even though he desperately wanted to. No sense giving Fury any more ammunition. Tony supposed it could have been worse; Fury could have ordered him back into rehab. Wasn’t happening. No one had yet given him a reason to stop drinking. He just needed to remember not to _drive_ at the same time. If he drank himself stupid in his own penthouse, that was between him and the walls. 

“Good,” Fury said. “You know I only want the best for you. Howard would never forgive me if you threw your life away.” 

“Howard’s dead,” Tony said, flat. There wasn’t anyone who didn’t know that, and he would have thought that after twenty years, it might stop hurting, but it still cut deep. Especially when people said shit like “Howard would never forgive me.” Howard hadn’t cared one way or the other about his only son, just his _legacy_. It was the legacy that mattered, not Anthony Edward.  

“If you think your father wouldn’t hold a grudge in the afterlife, you clearly don’t know him as well as I do,” Fury said. 

Ug. Thank you, so fucking much. Just what Tony needed to be reminded of: that he hadn’t really known his father at all. When people would say “he would be so proud of you” Tony was always tempted to scream at them, to yell that his father had plenty of opportunities to mention this pride to Tony before he’d died, but Howard hadn’t, and now he never would and it shouldn’t fucking _matter_ so much, but it did. Luckily, Fury wasn’t trying to sell Tony that load of horse manure. 

No fucking wonder Tony had issues. He watched another tray of drinks go by and had to dig his fingernails into his palms to avoid grabbing one. 

“Oh, look, Tony,” Pepper said, leaning closer to him. “There’s Professor Xavier, didn’t you want to talk to him about that grant?” 

“Yes, thank you, dear,” Tony patted his hand. He loved Pepper. Pepper was the _best_. Except when she wasn’t, but right now she was saving him from talking about his dad with Fury and that made her absolutely the best right now. “If you’ll excuse me, Judge Fury.”  

“I’m keeping an eye on you, Tony,” Fury said, just before Tony got out of range. 

“Christ,” Tony muttered. “That man…” 

“Cares about you,” Pepper said, patting his arm. “A lot of people care about you, Tony. You needn’t beat them away with a stick.” 

Tony changed his mind. Pepper was the _worst._  

“Charles,” he said, reaching down to take the man’s hand and shake firmly. “So good to see you again. How’s the school?”


	3. Hands Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky obviously had not gotten enough sleep, because he’d completely lost his fucking mind. He put a few tins of chicken noodle soup into his box, raised his gaze to look at Tony and said, “If I ain’t bein’ too forward,” he said, “you wanna come with?” 
> 
> Tony blinked, his mouth dropping open. “Like… uh… a date? Or just to hang out, because I… am I misreading this, or did you just ask me on a date?” 
> 
> Shit, shit, shit. Bucky rubbed his hand through his hair and scrubbed at the back of his neck. “Um... “ Christ his mouth got away from him sometimes, like a herd of half-tamed horses, apt to run off in any given direction without warning. “Yes?”

“Hey, Uncle Bucky,” Wanda said, looking up from her school books and yawning as he staggered in the door. “Steve’s up, had breakfast. After I finish this paper, I’m gonna take him to the park so you can get a few hours of quiet.”

“Thanks, kid,” Bucky said, ruffling his niece’s red-tipped hair. “You’ve got tonight off, unexpectedly. Rumlow needed to switch, so I’ve got his day off, and he’s taking mine.”

“Oh, great!” She beamed. “Vision’s doing a show at the Space Ibiza and I really wanted to see it, if I could.”

Bucky shook his head. Wanda was in college and was exchanging babysitting for rent so she could live in the city instead of commuting every day from New Jersey. It was a huge help for Bucky, and it was good to have another adult to talk to once in a while, even if he still thought of Wanda as a child half the time. Vision -- the tiny band that her twin brother and her boyfriend were members of -- was actually pretty good, although they were still getting fifty-dollars-and-half-off-cheese-fries gigs around Hell’s Kitchen and Chelsea. “Have fun with that.”

“You should totally come, Uncle Buck,” she said. “Look, Mrs. Carter already said Steve could do a sleepover, when I didn’t think you’d have the night off, so we can just do that. You know that Peggy is Steve’s best friend, he’ll be thrilled to spend some time with her, and you should do something fun, for a change. Come on.”

Bucky considered it. “Ok. If I get good sleep today, I’ll go to the show with you.”

“Excellent!” Wanda beamed at him, then dragged out her phone and started texting frantically, probably with her brother, Pietro, and her boyfriend, Jarvis.

“Daddy!” Steve finally noticed he was home -- probably the television had gone to commercial -- and ran across the room to leap into Bucky’s arms. God, he loved the hell out of this kid. Steve was thin and had trouble breathing and looked just like his mother, a sweet aching reminder. Bucky held Steve tight and took a deep breath, inhaling the smell of his son’s hair and thanking God for him.

“You been a good boy for your cousin?”

Steve considered it. “No. I complained about breakfast, and then I spilled my milk.” He sighed. “But then I helped her clean it up, and I drew her a picture, so… maybe? A little bit good, a little bit bad.” Steve took a deep breath and Bucky could hear the rattle of his lungs, a little wheeze and hitch to each lungful.

“Do you need to use your inhaler, Stevie?”

Steve shook his head. “Used it before _Adventure Time_ started,” he said. “Can’t again until after lunch.”

“You think you should skip the park and lay down for a while, kiddo?”

“No,” Steve protested. “Fresh air’s good for me.”

“Yeah, but you’re going to de Witt, I’m not sure that counts as fresh air,” Bucky pointed out.

“I’ll sit in the shade an’ draw an’ not run around so much. Come on, Dad, I wanna.”

“Okay,” Bucky said. “But you tell your cousin if you need to come home, right away, okay?”

“Promise,” Steve said, holding out his pinkie. Bucky linked the pinkie on his bionic hand with Steve’s.

“Okay,” Bucky said, putting Steve back down. Eventually, Steve would be too old to want to be picked up. Some day, Bucky would put his son down and never pick him up again. And chances were good, he’d never notice the moment until it was gone. Being a parent was hard. It was like ripping out his own heart and letting it run around on its own, without him. Bucky shook his head; he must be more tired than he thought, if he was getting so maudlin. “Your old man’s gotta get some shuteye, kiddo. Be good for your cuz, while I crash.”

“I’ll be as quiet as a mouse,” Steve promised. “Quiet as a hundred mice.”

“Pretty sure a hundred mice aren’t very quiet,” Bucky noted.

Bed. Right. Ug. Sleep. He checked his watch. It was eight, now. If he slept til two, he could still get into the Helping Hands for the weekly run. He’d been looking forward to it all week, hoping stupidly that Tony would be there again. Just looking at that man was a treat for Bucky’s eyes. He closed the door to his bedroom, peeled out of his clothes and threw them in the laundry basket.

He pulled out his phone. He’d managed to sneak a picture while they were murdering the bag of bearclaws, and Tony had his lips wrapped around the straw to his coffee. Bucky had cropped himself out of the pic. He studied the handsome face.

Hell with it. He slept better after masturbating anyway; it was hard to think for a while after rubbing one out, and when it was hard to think, he didn’t worry so much. He threw himself onto his bed, drew up his memories of Tony; the cute way his nose scrunched up when he laughed, the warm coffee-brown eyes, the neat little beard, the way the tee looked hugging his chest, the glimpse of leg under his torn jeans. Bucky didn’t have much trouble getting aroused, but at the same time he was shocked by how many details had stuck with him, considering he’d known the guy all of forty minutes, if that. _Idiot_.

The imaginary Tony was happy to take Bucky to bed and do him right. Dreams had the advantage of not needing lube or condoms or even flirting, which Bucky was so goddamn bad at sometimes; they could just move right to the action. Sweet dragging kisses and touches, Tony’s full mouth wrapped around Bucky’s cock ( _god_ ). Bending Tony over the bed and ( _Christ, yes_ ) sliding home into him, sweat and slick motions and… Bucky gritted his teeth, grabbed for the tissues, and… ( _nghhhh. Yeah, just like… that._ )

Bucky cleaned himself up and tossed the tissue in the trash, falling back onto his bed. Christ, it had been a long time since he’d gotten laid. Almost eight years. Forever. The last time was not long after Bucky had come home from that final deployment, when Stevie had been conceived, or thereabouts. Certainly not much afterward; between the physical discomfort of the pregnancy followed by the emotional roller-coaster of Steve’s arrival and immediate illness, combined with the mental anguish of Bucky’s PTSD and Sarah’s PPD... well. And there’d been no one since. 

For a long while, Bucky hadn’t really missed sex. Grief heaped on top of PTSD had sapped all his emotional energy for years, and what little energy he had left was spent desperately scrambling to provide for Stevie. But recently, as grief ebbed and taking care of Steve became less utterly consuming, Bucky had actually been able to stop occasionally and breathe, and think about the things that he wanted for himself. 

He had been able to _want_ again. Sex. Closeness. Intimacy. 

Bucky went to sleep, cuddling against his pillow and wishing it was a person. 

* * *

  

“Heeeey,” Tony said as Bucky slumped into the food pantry, grabbing one of the cardboard boxes from the rack just inside the door. 

“Tony, hey,” Bucky said. A tension inside his chest and jaw eased, as if he’d been relieved of pain that he wasn’t even aware he was suffering, his knees going weak and wobbly. He put a hand on the wall to catch himself. 

“Hey, you okay?” 

“Yeah, you know, heat to AC, gets you sometime,” Bucky lied. 

Tony pushed his glasses up on his nose. “For me, it’s usually the other way around. Walk into the outside and suddenly I can’t see.” 

Bucky reluctantly pushed up from the wall and started walking around the tiny room, grabbing food. Wow, fresh bananas, those must have just been delivered today. He took four from the bunch, leaving the rest for someone else. Mac & cheese, the shitty sort that required that he buy milk and butter, but hey, that was six meals there for a quart of milk and two sticks of butter. The EBT card would be reloaded on the fifteenth, and that was only three days from now. He missed the WIC program; that had ended when Steve had started school. Summers were hard. Almost over, though. 

“Any plans for the weekend?” Tony asked as Bucky got closer to the register. 

“Nah,” Bucky said. “I work nights and weekends, but I got tonight off. Going to see my nephew’s band play tonight.” 

Tony perked up, his eyes shining behind his glasses. “Oh, that sounds great. Jealous. I have nothing more exciting at home than the shit I’m missing at work because I gotta do this community service thing.” 

Bucky obviously had not gotten enough sleep, because he’d completely lost his fucking mind. He put a few tins of chicken noodle soup into his box, raised his gaze to look at Tony and said, “If I ain’t bein’ too forward,” he said, “you wanna come with?” 

Tony blinked, his mouth dropping open. “Like… uh… a date? Or just to hang out, because I… am I misreading this, or did you just ask me on a date?” 

Shit, shit, shit. Bucky rubbed his hand through his hair and scrubbed at the back of his neck. “Um... “ Christ his mouth got away from him sometimes, like a herd of half-tamed horses, apt to run off in any given direction without warning. “Yes?” 

Tony straightened up and gave Bucky a grin that lit up the room, a megawatt smile full of flashing teeth and honest, raw delight. “That would be great. James. It’s James, right? Your handwriting is terrible,” he said, “but that’s what I thought it said.” 

“Oh, God,” Bucky muttered. He’d completely forgotten to introduce himself. “Yeah. Most people call me Bucky, though, if you prefer.” 

“Is that like one of those Peggy from Margaret sort of nicknames that no one really knows how you get from one to the other?” Tony asked, still smiling like he was _happy_ that Bucky had asked him on a date and… Wow, that smile was _killing_ him. 

“Nah,” Bucky said. “My middle name's Buchanan, and my pop was also a James… although everyone called him Big Jim.” 

“So, what’s the plan, then, Bucky?” Tony said. He fished his phone out and pulled the stylus. _Date Night Tonight_. His handwriting was cramped but neat, unlike Bucky’s, which had been something of a sprawl even before he’d lost his dominant hand. 

“Vision's playing at the Space Ibiza, over in Hell’s Kitchen,” Bucky said. “Doors open at 8, but you’ll want to get there around 7 or so; my niece can get us in the back, since her brother’s in the band, and we’ll shoot the shit with Pietro and Jarvis and Sam for a while, and also that way we can dodge my sister’s husband, because Erik will almost assuredly be there, and he’s still pissed that I gave Wanda -- my niece -- a place to stay in the city. He wanted her to go to school nearer to him, in Jersey, but I offered to trade rent for babysitting.” 

Tony continued to grin, like he actually cared about Bucky’s petty little family drama. “Seven. I can do that. Can I get your number, in case… I dunno, I need to find you in the crowd or something?” 

Bucky held out his hand for Tony’s phone and entered his number, then dialed himself. When his pocket buzzed, Bucky disconnected. “There. Now we’re good, and dude, you need to stop smiling at me.” 

The glorious smile faltered. “Why?” 

“Because I can’t breathe when you smile like that and how am I supposed to get my shopping done when I’m gasping for air?” _Mouth? What the hell are you doing?_ He was both joking and completely serious, although he was going to give himself a heart attack if he kept trying to flirt. Christ’s bloody cup, he sounded like an idiot. 

The smile was back, though, dazzling and doing weird, complicated things to Bucky’s stomach. Tony shifted through the box of food, scanning and inventorying with quick efficiency. “What’s the club’s dress code?” 

“Yes, please wear clothes?” Bucky said. “I’ll be in jeans and a tee and take my hair out from under this stupid hat. I have to keep it back at work, my boss doesn’t like long-haired freaks.” And he hadn’t showered yet, so his hair was slicked back and oily, hanging down the back of his neck, but he managed to resist mentioning that to Tony. 

“Okay, then,” Tony said. “I’ll see you tonight.”

 


	4. Gotta Hand it To You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony held his phone up. “Lean in,” he told Wanda and Bucky and took the shot, then texted Darcy again, with the resultant picture. _My date. Can you make me look taller?_  
> 
>  _Tony, no one can make you look taller, you’re travel sized._  
> 
> Smart-ass. _Fired, Lewis. You’re fired._  
> 
>  _You can’t fire me. You need me. Wow, your bae is smokin’_    
>  _He’s my date, Lewis. First date. Shut up. Fired._    
>  _Not fired. You love me._    
>  _Work, Lewis. Now._  

“Bruce, no, seriously,” Tony said, holding one shirt up to the camera. “This one, or the blue?” 

Bruce sighed, leaned closer to his computer. “Tony, no one cares. You look fine no matter what, and what’s more, you are a _hundred percent aware_ of this. Nothing that you own looks bad on you, your stylist doesn’t let you keep ugly clothes. Well, aside from all your MIT sweatshirts. Don’t wear one of those.” 

“No help at all,” Tony said. He threw himself onto his bed, bouncing the laptop a few times, before rolling over to face the computer. “I haven’t been on an actual first date with someone who randomly asked me… ever. In my life. I didn’t even start dating until I was done with my bachelor’s degree.” 

“That’s because you were _fourteen_ when you went to college, Tony, and no one wants to date a fourteen year old, no matter how rich they are,” Bruce reminded him. “You skipped all the stupid stuff like prom and awkward first dates and inconvenient boners in gym class and on the bus. Be grateful. You can go on a legit first date and might actually not have terrible memories of it later.” 

“I can’t possibly have terrible memories about this date,” Tony said. “I mean, did you see the picture I sent you? He’s gorgeous.” 

“I did, Tony, and I find it just a little bit weird that you’re dating someone from the prosthetics program. Stalkery, almost.” 

“He is not a stalker, Bruce,” Tony said, mostly sure of that. Bucky hadn’t seemed phased by anything Tony did, aside from maybe the Starbucks card. 

“I don’t mean him. I meant you.” 

Tony rolled his eyes and huffed. “I can’t just _date_ someone, Bruce. I have to kinda clear it with my security detail. So, you know, I got the file. Happy gets very… unHappy when he feels like I’m doing something dangerous.” 

“Which has never stopped you before,” Bruce reminded him. 

“Which has never stopped me before,” Tony agreed. “You’re right, absolutely right there. But hey, ex-special forces, earned medals, national hero! Seems intelligent and sweet, a caring father--” 

“You’re biased because you think the guy is cute,” Bruce said. “He might be an idiot and you wouldn’t recognize it because you’ve got stars in your eyes.” 

“Do I criticize your dating choices, Bruce? Because I must say, you’re being very hurtful, here,” Tony chided. 

“No, but I’ve never called you asking for dating advice, either,” Bruce pointed out. “Look, go, have fun. Call me tomorrow and tell me all about it. I know you will want to, so I might as well encourage you, right?” 

“You’re the best,” Tony said. 

“So you keep telling me,” Bruce said. 

* * *

 

Tony had gotten a lot of VIP treatment in his life; there wasn’t a club in town where he couldn’t walk right past the line, kick people out of the best lounge, and rule over as king and master whenever he wanted. He’d partied with supermodels and actors, and for fuck’s sake, _Pearl Jam_ had performed at his 18th birthday party (although to be honest, he’d asked for that mostly because it annoyed his father). But this? Hanging out in the green room for pre-gig beers and snacks, just messing around with a little up-and-coming band? He’d never done anything like it before. 

Bucky, as promised, wore a tank top etched with the band’s name and symbol. Apparently the StarkArm was cool in club scenes, and Bucky had even gotten a custom paint-job on the shoulder, a single red star -- a tattoo of sorts. While Tony knew from his file the extent of the damage to Bucky’s arm, it was both awesome and painful to see in person the way the arm spread all the way up onto his shoulder, and the rough-shiny white map of scars disappearing under the shirt. He wore skin-tight black jeans and a pair of motorcycle boots with a chain and padlock around his left ankle and his hair pulled into a manbun, with a wave of fringe that was constantly falling into his eyes. He’d even done up his eyes with thick, black eyeliner and Christ, but Tony wanted to eat him right up. Unbelievably, unfairly hot. 

Bucky’s niece and nephew -- twins -- were just as good-looking as Bucky, in very different ways. Pietro, the guitarist, had gray eyes and frosted hair that matched his silver-mesh shirt, and was in constant motion, poking, annoying, or picking on his sister when he wasn’t fiddling with his guitar. Wanda had long, dark hair, dyed with red stripes because that was a thing all the kids did these days, with amber eyes. She wore a long, red vest that buttoned over her ample chest, along with tight black leggings and black fingerless gloves. She hung all over the lead singer, Edwin Jarvis (“Call me J.”) who had dyed his blond hair purple at the tips. The third member of the band, the drummer, was a black kid named Sam, who sported one of those carefully groomed I-woke-up-this-way stubble beards that actually took a ton of time and effort. He didn’t talk much, just kept staring at Wanda with his heart in his eyes. Tony saw band drama looming on the horizon. 

Tony didn’t say much either; he leaned against the wall and watched Bucky joking around with his niece and nephew. Tony snapped a few pics and sent them to Pepper. If the band was good, he’d post them to his social media accounts (well, technically, Pepper would send him to his media coordinator and _Darcy_ would post them to the accounts, because it had long since been proven that Tony could not be trusted with his own social media accounts.) He had no false modesty about where his influence could get a band, but he was also not going to exert that influence unless they were actually good. Tony had his pride, after all. 

Just before the curtain was ready -- not that there was an actual curtain -- he was introduced to Erik Lehnsherr, the twins’ father. Lehnsherr had taken one look at Tony and blinked, his eyes narrowing. Tony had obviously not passed muster, because Lehnsherr didn’t look at him again, pointedly focusing exclusively on his children as he wished them luck and left to find his place in the audience. 

Then it was time for the band to set up. Bucky roadied for them, carrying instruments and helping to hook up the amps. Tony helped, plugging everything in and assisting with the sound check, a thing he actually knew how to do because really, electronics were electronics and they worked, generally, the way they were supposed to, and Tony had always had a sixth sense about those sorts of things. 

When they were done, Bucky grabbed Tony’s hand and dragged him off the stage and out into the audience, where he used an impressively intimidating scowl to make a space in the front row. Lehnsherr was nowhere to be seen. Tony couldn’t say he wasn’t grateful for that. 

The kids came on stage; Pietro plugged in his guitar and the crowd cheered wildly. Wanda squirmed up to the front, pushing and shoving until Bucky spotted her and yanked her bodily through the crowd, bracketing his arms on either side of her so she could stand at the very front and not get squashed by the crowd. Jarvis blew her a kiss and then they launched into their first song of the night, “Didn’t See That Coming.” 

“Hey, Tony,” Bucky yelled over the noise of the crowd. “Can you film a song or two for the band’s website? Space is a big gig for them, and I need to keep Wanda from getting crushed.” 

“Particular requests?” Tony asked. 

“Hell if I know, they don’t clear the set list with me. Hey, pipsqueak,” he nudged Wanda. “Do you know when they’re doing --” Someone bumped him from behind, hard, and Tony heard the distinct sound of the bionic arm entering lock-up as Bucky half-turned, hip-checking the guy. 

Wanda glanced up at her uncle, alarmed, and put a hand on Bucky’s bionic arm to draw his attention. “They do ‘Order and Chaos’ last, usually. That’s their best song.” When Bucky turned away from the drunk, she sighed with relief, patting at his metal wrist. 

Bucky shrugged away her concern, flexing the metal fingers against the rail. “I always liked ‘Miss Him Already.’” 

The next song came on, “A Wish to Understand,” a slow, intense love song -- no, check that, Tony thought as they started the third chorus -- a paeon to love and _lust_ that had to be the most erotic rock song he’d heard outside of The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. Wow. And J was looking straight at Wanda the entire time he was singing. No wonder Lehnsherr had been so stiff and formal in the green room and -- Tony did a quick pan of the crowd and didn’t see him -- had probably left before the performance. Fathers and daughters made for an interesting dynamic, he thought, perhaps especially when the daughters were adults beyond their fathers’ control. 

Fortunately, Tony was used to filming a lot of his life, and had already gotten the camera app up on his phone. He caught a few shots of Wanda grinning like a lovesick fool and batting her eyelashes at her boyfriend, and while he was at it, turned for some more crowd shots. And it was Tony’s phone, so if the camera happened to linger on Bucky, singing along, his eyes clear and lovely, his shoulder moving along with the beat, then that was no one’s business but Tony’s. Bucky’s lips were red, full, _luscious_ , and Tony had to remind himself, somewhat forcibly, that he was not filming a porn video before he turned the camera back to the band. 

They were good, Tony decided. Not top quality, but they had a good sound, original tunes, and it didn’t hurt that they were all stunningly attractive. Get Wanda up there in a tight skirt to do choruses and maybe sing opposite her boyfriend -- assuming she could sing, of course, but there was always autotune -- and they could be headlining in a year or so. Tony emailed the vid and some of the photographs to Darcy with a “make this look professional” attached to it. Darcy was a wizard; she even made Tony look good from time to time. 

A few minutes later, his phone vibrated and he glanced down. 

_Where are you?_

_What band is this?_

_Do you have a professional cut of the music?_

_Tony, work with me here._

_Also, who is the babe?_  

Holy shit, Darcy was excitable. Five texts in thirty seconds? She was obviously using voice text; StarkPhones were the _best_. 

Tony held his phone up. “Lean in,” he told Wanda and Bucky and took the shot, then texted Darcy again, with the resultant picture. _My date. Can you make me look taller?_  

 _Tony, no one can make you look taller, you’re travel sized._  

Smart-ass. _Fired, Lewis. You’re fired._  

 _You can’t fire me. You need me. Wow, your bae is smokin’_  

 _He’s my date, Lewis. First date. Shut up. Fired._  

 _Not fired. You love me._  

 _Work, Lewis. Now._  

The band finished off with their best song, “Order and Chaos,” just like Wanda predicted and-- “Holy shit,” Tony said, leaning over to Wanda. “Have they cut a demo? This is really good.” 

Wanda shook her head. “They’ve got a Kickstarter up, though.” 

They finished the song and started talking; J did band introductions, talked about the Kickstarter -- Wanda waved her hands at Tony in a “see, what did I say?” sort of gesture -- and encouraged people to buy the band’s shirts and bumper stickers. Tony brought the Kickstarter up on his phone; they were about a grand away from their goal with two days left. 

 _Lewis, do I have a Kickstarter account?_  

 _Of course._  

He sent her the details, then tucked his phone away again. 

* * *

 

They moved away from the stage front once Vision was offstage, yielding to the next group up, Guardians of the Galaxy, whose lead singer, Peter Quill, had once been the frontman for Star Lord. Tony was actually familiar with some of Quill’s work, mostly covers and mashups, including a hysterical piece called “Purple and I Know It,” a cross between “Purple Haze” and “Sexy and I Know It.” 

Tony picked up a tee from each band, then grabbed beers from the bar and followed Bucky back to the green room, his bribe in hand, the tees draped over his shoulder. 

Sam grabbed a beer without even waiting, grinning, and when J refused his with a quick “don’t drink, thanks,” Sam took his, too. 

“Good show,” Tony said, setting the remaining beers on a table before leaning back against the wall to drink his own. It had been a long time since his college party days, but he could still manage to carry three cups in each hand, so long as no one objected to his fingers getting in the suds. 

“Yeah?” Pietro asked, leaning back in his chair, blotting his stage-damp hair with a white hotel towel. 

“Yeah, seriously,” Tony said. “You’ve got a smooth bass line, emotional lyrics, intricate rhythms, and beautiful harmonies that help create an unbreakable bond with your listeners. I was touched, I mean, really moved, and not just in my pants, because, wow, ‘Wish to Understand’ was some hot stuff. I see it being played at baseball stadiums, when people are trying to do those awful, public proposals.” 

“Is this guy for real?” J demanded of Bucky. 

“He said yes to a date with me,” Bucky pointed out. “There’s only so real he can be.” 

“Pfft,” Wanda said. “You sell yourself short, Uncle Bucky. I would totally date you, you know, if we weren’t related. And you were straight.” 

“Shut your mouth, sis,” Pietro said. “That’s gross. Like one--” He started ticking points off on his fingers. “--you are related. And he’s like twenty years older than you are--” 

Bucky scoffed. “I’m thirty-seven. I’m not _old_.” 

“--though he’s half-straight, or did you think the storks dropped Stevie off? I mean, I know you don’t know how sex works and everything because you’re not having sex with my best friend or anything, on the sofa in my living room or anything, because that’s just a random example and it--” 

“I do _not_ need to hear this,” Bucky said, clamping his hands over his ears. 

Tony laughed. “I could stand to hear a little more. Details are good. Adjectives, particularly.” 

Sam got up and left without a word and Wanda huffed air, watching him go. She threw up her hands as the door closed behind him. “This is not my fault,” she wailed, before Pietro could say anything. “You don’t have to… be that way.” 

Pietro winced. “Sorry, sis. I forgot. Let me go talk to him. Excuse me.” He gave his sister a quick, conciliatory hug and hurried after their drummer. 

J muttered under his breath, something about getting over it, then yawned with exaggeration. Bucky took the hint. “Will you be home later?” he asked, sneaking a glance at Tony as if expecting disapproval. 

Wanda nodded, giving J an apologetic look. “Probably. Sam’s already upset and…” 

“Yeah, well,” J said. “No need to cause more problems, I know, but he needs to stop acting like you friend-zoned him. He did that to his own damn self.” 

“You want to get out of here, Tony?” Bucky said, looking faintly embarrassed. 

Tony nodded, grabbing another one of the beers on the way out and draining it before they reached the backstage exit. God save him from twenty-somethings. 

“Sorry about that,” Bucky said. 

“Eh, I was young once. I think. And I did the crazy break-up shit just a few years back, so, you know, we don’t really get any better at it with age,” Tony said. They passed Sam and Pietro talking in the alley and moved along quickly without stopping, not wanting to embarrass Sam. 

They walked a few blocks, toward the subway, and Bucky absently linked his fingers with Tony’s. It was casual and at the same time, fraught with tension. Tony allowed himself a tiny smile and squeezed. “This was nice,” he said, waving his free hand to indicate the club, the music, the tees still over his shoulder, and the walking. “Maybe we could do it again?” 

“Really?” Bucky looked surprised. “You weren’t bored?” 

“Good music, got to chat with the band, good company. I know boredom,” Tony said. “Intimately. And this… this was not it. Maybe something a little quieter, next time, though... We could get to know each other?” 

“Yeah, I’d like that,” Bucky said. “This is my station.” He indicated the stairs. “Are you taking the train home?” 

“Nah, I’ve got a ride,” Tony said. Happy was probably in a parking lot nearby, playing Tiny Towers on his phone or something. 

“Okay,” Bucky said. He paused for a moment, looking down at Tony, and more specifically, as far as Tony could tell, at Tony’s mouth. Tony wet his lip with his tongue. He wasn’t sure if Bucky was going to try for a kiss or not, but if he did, Tony was absolutely going to let him. “Well, good night.” 

“Good night,” Tony said, softly. Damn, Bucky wasn’t going to try for it, which was really a shame, because Tony could use a good kiss and he didn’t like to initiate things, never sure that he had enough to offer a date that was real and not his money or his standing. 

Bucky had started to turn away, but almost as if he could hear the spinning wheels of self-doubt in Tony’s head, he turned back and without so much as a hint of hesitation, dropped a kiss on Tony’s mouth. 

It was over before Tony really grasped that it was happening, but there was the feel of warm, soft lips, chapped a little on the lower one where Bucky seemed to bite his lip when he got nervous, a quick, silken feel of heat, and the taste of him, like orange Tic-Tacs, and then it was done. Bucky pulled back, flicked his fingers through his bangs, pushing them up and back. “I had a really nice time, Tony; thanks,” he said, and then he was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Purple and I know It](https://youtu.be/fBvRoioY0_o) is a real song, performed by my friends in Griff's Room Band.


	5. Getting Your Hands Dirty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Playboy Billionaire Spotted Slumming it With Disabled War Veteran_
> 
> _Tony Stark was caught by our photographer early Thursday morning with a mysterious new beau after a wild and crazy night of partying in Hell’s Kitchen hot spot, Space Ibiza. Far from Stark’s normal party trail, Ibiza was hosting some of the city’s newest and hottest young bands…. But you don’t care about that, do you, readers? Check out the action, as captured by TMZ’s own photographer, Ty --_

“Daddy,” Stevie asked, once they sat down on the subway, “what’s a boyslut?” 

Bucky choked. “Where did you hear that horrible little word?” 

“Mizzus Carter’s neighbor stopped by this morning,” Steve said, looking down at his feet and tapping his worn shoes together. “She um… she talked with Mizzus Carter for a while, then Mizzus Carter shut the door in her face. She was mad, an’ tole me not to worry about it, and that you weren’t bad.” 

“Me?” Bucky was taken aback. Amanda hadn’t said anything out of the ordinary to him when he’d shown up to pick up Steve and his overnight bag. Steve and Peggy had been friends since they were practically born, and there’d never been any major problems between them, though they were getting close to an age where sleepovers would probably have to stop. (Bucky was sad about that; it was so stupid to force sexual expectations on kids when they were ten, like there was some magical line where girl friends suddenly became _girlfriends_ and boys weren’t to be trusted.) He rather thought Amanda liked him, as a friend. Admired him, even, for being a single dad and raising a polite, intelligent child. 

“The neighbor said you were,” Steve said, not looking up. “That you was in the rags an’ you were seen… _kissing_ someone you shouldn’t be.” 

Bucky flushed. “I had a date last night,” he admitted. “And yes, we kissed, but…” Rags. Christ, gossip rags? What the hell… Confused, he dug out his phone and brought up TMZ, the biggest celebrity gossip site he knew of. 

And right there, the first picture on the website, was Tony’s profile, leaning into Bucky’s kiss. The angle made the kiss look a lot deeper and dirtier than it actually had been. 

_Playboy Billionaire Spotted Slumming it With Disabled War Veteran_  

_Tony Stark was caught by our photographer early Thursday morning with a mysterious new beau after a wild and crazy night of partying in Hell’s Kitchen hot spot, Space Ibiza. Far from Stark’s normal party trail, Ibiza was hosting some of the city’s newest and hottest young bands…. But you don’t care about that, do you, readers? Check out the action, as captured by TMZ’s own photographer, Ty --_  

Bucky turned off his phone. Not just shut the screen down but turned it all the way off. He was _cold_ , icebox, bone-chillingly cold. Like someone had stuffed him in a freezer for decades. 

He scrambled to hold it together, the servos in his arm clicking and whining as he overclocked them, his fist squeezing and releasing compulsively. He couldn’t lose it here, not in front of Stevie, but… 

God. Damn it. 

Tony _Stark_? How had he not _known_? Not that Bucky ever really followed celebrity crap; he could barely keep up with his own life, much less stick his nose into anyone else’s, and yeah, when they’d met Tony had looked vaguely familiar, but he’d thought it was familiar in the way that the receptionist from the doctor’s office looked familiar when you saw them out of context at the grocery store. 

“It wasn’t bad of you to kiss him, was it, Daddy?” Steve was asking, pulling on his sleeve and looking distressed. 

Christ. “No, Steve, it wasn’t,” Bucky said. This was not a conversation he wanted to be having with his son, not now. Probably not ever, but… well, no sense wishing. “We went on a date, and we had fun. We went to see your cousin’s band playing and…” 

“Do you like him?” 

“I… “ _Yes. No. Not right now._ I… “I don’t know. I thought I did, but I’m a little mad at him right now.” 

“Did he push you? Because I was mad at Peggy’s friend when he pushed me, but then he said he was sorry, so we’re friends again.” 

God, if only adult problems were as easy and solvable as kid problems. “No,” Bucky said. “I’m mad because someone took a picture of us in what should have been a private moment. And it’s not Tony’s fault, but… he should have told me that… it’s complicated. And adult stuff. And it was _private_.” Except now it wasn’t, and he was going to have to live with that, and he had no idea what the consequences were going to be. He wasn’t the least bit prepared for having his private life in the _goddamn papers_. 

“Adult stuff,” Steve said, sadly. Bucky had put a lot of topics under that particular tarp, and the ones that Steve had dragged out into the light anyway had been heavy, awful things. His mom’s suicide. His father’s PTSD. Being poor and what it meant. Steve’s own chronic illnesses. “I hate adult stuff.” 

“Me, too,” Bucky said, drawing him closer for a hug. “Look, I’ll explain it all to you soon. Just... Not right now, okay, kiddo? I don’t even know what’s going on, yet.” 

* * *

 

When Bucky and Steve got home, the whole band was piled into his tiny apartment, apparently celebrating. 

“It’s ten in the morning,” Bucky complained. “What the fu-- hell--  Oh, shi-- What are you _doing_ here?” 

Wanda laughed at his desperate and doomed attempts to self-censor. “Add ‘hell’ to the list of words you’re not supposed to say at school, Stevie,” she said. 

“Sam!” Steve said, ignoring everyone else in the room and latching onto Vision’s drummer, nearly knocking Sam over. Sam was absolutely Steve’s favorite person aside from Bucky, and sometimes Bucky wondered if even he didn’t take a dim second place to Sam, which caused an odd pang of jealousy. 

Sam scooped Steve up and carried him over to the television. Sam was weirdly good with kids for being a twenty-two-year-old who was finishing up a degree in philosophy of all things. 

Bucky turned back toward the twins and J, who, Bucky noticed, had a hand inappropriately high on Wanda’s thigh. Bucky glared until J moved his hand, then demanded, “What’s going on?” 

“The Kickstarter made goal last night,” J said, beaming. “And we wanted to, well, to thank you.” 

“Me?” Bucky was saying that a lot recently. Why would they thank _him_ for-- His stomach plummeted. Oh. _God_. 

“Well, Tony, actually,” Wanda said, “but he must have done it because you brought him to the show, and we’re all over his social media now, and oh, Uncle Bucky, thank you so much!” 

Bucky closed his eyes against a sudden headache. “Wasn’t me,” he said. “Tony makes his own decisions. I just brought him to the show.” Which was true, and it was the least violent and angry of his initial reactions. Reactions one through five, at least, involved slamming Tony against a wall somewhere and yelling at him about how fucking inappropriate all of this was. Reactions six through eight involved dying of mortification. 

The kids were so damned happy, though, so excited that it _hurt_ , hurt more than Bucky could be honestly expected to bear, not so much that they were happy but that he’d had nothing whatsoever to do with it, and they were heaping praise onto him as if he had, and _boyslut_ and pictures online and oh, God, shit, _fuck_ , what was going to happen when his _boss_ found out? 

Another part of him was greedily delighted. Wanted to press his advantage. Obviously Tony liked him. There could be a lot of benefit in maintaining that relationship, whatever it was. If he swallowed his pride and took the goddamn handouts… 

No. Absolutely not. Tony had _lied_ to him, or if not lied, at least left out some pertinent fucking details and... 

Bucky’s headache was getting worse by the second. “All right, congrats, kids,” Bucky said. “Now, shoo. I got work tonight and need to catch some sleep, okay?” 

Pietro hugged him, hard, on the way out, tucking his face against Bucky’s neck like he had when he’d just been a _boy._ “Thank you. You don’t know what this means for us.” 

Wanda kissed J goodbye, and shut the door behind them, Steve already pouting because Sam hadn’t stayed longer. 

She got Steve a snack and waited until he’d turned his attention back to the television, then turned her attention back to Bucky, still standing in the middle of the room and massaging his pounding temples. “You’re upset,” she said, insightful as always. Too insightful. 

“You could say.” 

“You want to talk about it?” Wanda patted the spot on the couch next to her. 

Bucky flopped down onto the sofa. He shouldn’t. Wanda was really still a kid, and she was his niece and his babysitter and it was wrong to burden her with his problems, but… He didn’t have any real friends. He’d lost half of them in the military op-gone-wrong that had taken his arm, and he wasn’t good at making new friends. He couldn’t afford a therapist, and he couldn’t talk to his sister because she would just get upset and tell Erik about it, and then Erik would be angry. At Bucky, probably. 

Bucky had found that out the hard way when he’d told Mags about his flashback and PTSD meltdown. She’d told Erik and Erik had promptly threatened to remove Steve from his custody if Bucky didn’t get his shit together. Bucky hadn’t gotten his shit together, at least not as much as he should, but he had learned better than to confide in his sister about it. 

So, Wanda it was. Bucky scrubbed at his teeth with this tongue. “I didn’t know who he was. Tony, I mean. He was… I thought he was just a guy.” 

“A cute one,” Wanda pointed out. 

“Yeah.” Bucky scrubbed at his face. He didn’t want to know. But he had to ask anyway. “How much did he... contribute?” 

“He bought the house party,” Wanda confessed, looking down at her hands, suddenly less excited and happy, and Bucky hated that it was his fault, but what else was he supposed to do? The house party had been an impulse reward. Jarvis had seen it on other band projects, but they’d never expected anyone to buy it -- the backer amount for that prize was, Christ, _two thousand dollars_. “We were excited, Uncle Bucky. I mean… Tony Stark? That’s the kind of money and influence that could launch them. You can’t make them turn down the opportunity.” 

“I won’t,” Bucky said. “I just… I need to… Wanda, someone took a picture of us, last night. I’m in the goddamn Entertainment Weekly.” 

Wanda touched the tip of her tongue to her upper lip, and Bucky knew she’d already seen it before she said it. “Yeah. I saw.” 

Bucky groaned. “I’m going to lose my job. Your dad’s gonna take Steve away, and I know I deserve to lose him but…” 

“James Buchanan Barnes,” Wanda snapped, sounding so much like Bucky’s mom back in the day that Bucky stared at her in shock. “Stop borrowing trouble.” Her tone softened a little. “Get some sleep. Then call Tony and _work this out_. He seems like a nice man. I’m sure he didn’t do this on purpose to hurt you.” 

“Did you know?” 

Wanda nodded. “J has a StarkPhone,” she acknowledged. “Tony does all the tutorials himself, on little video clips. We’ve all seen him. We all knew who he was. Never occurred to me that _you_ didn’t. J was so excited. Tony Stark is one of his personal heroes. Like Steve Jobs. Please don’t… don’t take that away from him, okay?” 

Bucky sighed, blowing out hard enough to fluff his hair out of his face. “I’ll try.” 

“You need sleep,” Wanda said. “Go catch some. I have a thing at four, so I’ll wake you before i go.” 

“Thanks, kid.” 

“Love you, Uncle Bucky,” she said. 

“I know. I thank God for you every day.” And he did. Steve and Wanda were two of the best things that had ever happened to him. Hell, some days, it seemed they were the only things in his life that mattered. He dragged himself off the sofa and into the bedroom. Where he did not sleep. He just stared at the ceiling and wondered what the fuck he was supposed to do now. 


	6. Hand over Fist

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Darcy sighed. “Look at the pictures, Tony.”
> 
> “Why are you torturing me, Lewis?” Tony said, but spun around in his chair, lazily. He picked up one of the papers, and everything south of his throat turned to lead. “Oh, fuck. Ohhhh, fucking fuck. This is bad. Oh, Jesus fuck.”
> 
> “Yeah,” Darcy said. “Ty’s already digging up dirt on this guy, it’s really… Oh, Tony.” She sounded so damned disappointed in him that Tony wanted to crawl under his desk and die.
> 
> “I need to build a time machine,” Tony said, pulling at his hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains a brief reference to being roofied and assault. It's very brief and happened quite a while ago, but take care, if that's upsetting for you... also, chapter contains Tony falling off the wagon again and getting shit-faced.

“Ug, Tony,” Darcy Lewis said. She was actually in his office, which was both strange and worrisome at the same time, because Darcy _never_ came into his office. She’d only done so once before, to bring in a photographer for a shoot of the eclectic billionaire in his native environment. That shoot that had moved from his office to the Stark Industries lab to his home workshop and finally to a series of semi-racy shoots in his custom-designed and perfectly hedonistic bathroom that had involved strategically-placed bubbles and shower heads and eventually banging the photographer in his enormous bed. Darcy had probably left before it got to that point. Probably. It was _Darcy_ , after all, and there had been a lot of alcohol involved. 

But Tony hadn’t seen her in his office since, and the fact that she was here now, saying his name like he had personally poured a quart of used motor oil on her head... That did not bode well. 

Tony scratched his eyelid and didn’t look at her. “Whenever someone says my name in that tone of voice, I know I’m in trouble. What now?” 

“Your fucking ex-boyfriend is making my job hard again,” Darcy said. She threw down a series of daily gossip rags and printouts. 

Tony still didn’t look. It wasn’t quite lunch time and he’d gone down to the ‘shop after the concert and worked happily for several hours before remembering that sleep was a thing he should do sometimes. Which meant he hadn’t actually crawled into his bed until after sunrise and then he’d gotten maybe a ninety minute power nap before he had to get up and come into the office for some vitally important bullshit thing that really didn’t need him at all. He’d just sat there and pretended to look thoughtful and involved while someone gave him a 20 minute slide-show pitch for a project that he’d already decided he wasn’t going to back because it was stupid and a waste of time and resources. 

“Ty? What’s my favorite stalker up to, now?” Tony spun around in his office chair and stared out the window, not noticing the view. Tiberius Stone was, hands-down, the worst person he’d ever dated. He’d gotten Tony into cocaine, and that had been a fucking dumpster fire that took years to put out. And that wasn’t even the worst of it. Ty still featured prominently in both Tony’s nightmares and his therapy sessions. 

Darcy sighed. “Look at the pictures, Tony.” 

“Why are you torturing me, Lewis?” Tony said, but spun around in his chair, lazily. He picked up one of the papers, and everything south of his throat turned to lead. “Oh, fuck. Ohhhh, fucking fuck. This is bad. Oh, Jesus fuck.” 

“Yeah,” Darcy said. “Ty’s already digging up dirt on this guy, it’s really… Oh, Tony.” She sounded so damned disappointed in him that Tony wanted to crawl under his desk and die. 

“I need to build a time machine,” Tony said, pulling at his hair. 

“Fun as that might be,” Darcy said, “if you did, I’m pretty sure I’d never get out of fifth grade. So. Under normal circumstances, I’d just tell you what to do, and you’d do it, but I don’t know this guy. If I’m gonna help you spin this, I need you to find out what he wants to do. It’s too late to put out a casting call and get a look-alike to pal around with you for a while, especially with the band stuff going up before this came out. Sorry about that, that one’s completely on me.” 

“I didn’t know Ty was still following me,” Tony said. “I thought… I thought he’d given it up.” 

“Oh, Tones,” Darcy said, sadly, “he’s never going to give it up. You were a huge meal-ticket for Ty and he’s got an 18-wheeler to carry all the grudges he hauls around with him. He didn’t even violate the terms of his restraining order; this was taken with a telescopic lens.” 

Tony had gotten the restraining order after the second time Ty had approached him in a club. The first time, he’d managed to drug Tony’s drink and the only reason he hadn’t ended up fucked (both literally and figuratively) in Ty’s car was because Happy came looking for him. The second time, Ty had scared the hell out of Tony with a knife in the men’s room. The club bouncers had been on top of that, but there wasn’t supposed to be a third time. 

Tony sighed. “Shit.” 

“Yep,” Darcy said, popping the p, smudging her lipstick. “I’ll fix it, Tones. Just find out what he wants to do. We can spin this. I’m the best, you know that.” 

“I know.” 

* * *

 

By Saturday, Tony was back in the bottle. Bucky wasn’t returning his calls or texts. Tony had filled up the man’s voice mail -- probably not entirely on his own, since he expected that Bucky was getting a lot of unwanted attention -- with repeated requests, but still nothing. 

Tony knew where Bucky lived -- it was in the paperwork for the prosthetics -- but he couldn’t just _show up_ there, especially not with _Tiberius Stone_ following him around. That was the last thing Bucky needed when he lived in an apartment without a doorman and wasn’t used to closing his curtains tight and changing his routes every couple of days to avoid being followed. If Ty didn’t know where Bucky lived… god, Tony _hoped_ Ty didn’t know. 

Tony was just observing how fast a bottle of whiskey could disappear when he wasn’t paying attention when his phone rang. He flipped his phone over: Bucky’s face was on the screen, the picture Tony had taken during the show. Tony fumbled the phone in surprise, cursed, caught it, and barely managed to hit the Answer button before it went to voicemail. 

“Hey,” he said, trying for casual. He switched the call to speaker and dropped the phone onto his chest. “I was hoping you’d call.” 

“I had some things to think about,” Bucky said, slowly. “I wanted to make sure I said what I meant and that I meant what I said.” 

“Dr. Seuss. Profound,” Tony replied. He checked the bottle again, but it was still empty. Shame, that. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you.” 

“I know,” Bucky said. “I turned my phone off after my son asked some… Look, Mr. Stark--” 

“Don’t,” Tony said, because that hurt straight through the whiskey’s cloud of numbness. “Please don’t do that. It’s Tony.” 

“I didn’t _know_ ,” Bucky confessed. “You didn’t tell me your last name and I… had no idea what I was getting myself into. I haven’t walked into work once since, without finding the damn picture plastered all over my locker. My brother-in-law has come over _personally_ to tell me what a shitty father I am. I’m on _probation_ at work, supposedly because I was late, although I never have been, and I just know that he’s only waiting for this to die down before giving me my papers and… _You didn’t tell me_.” 

“In my defense,” Tony said, slurring his words and not caring, “I may have overestimated my celebrity.” God, he didn’t want to know the answer to this question and fuck, he was going to ask anyway. “Would you have asked me out, if you’d known?” 

“Fuck no,” Bucky said, then, cautiously, “Are you drunk?” 

“Oh, yeah,” Tony said, working his jaw. “Wish I could get drunker, but that would involve moving off my couch and I’m not entirely certain where the floor is.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, feeling the beard rasp from several days of not shaving. 

“Look,” Bucky said, “I ain’t saying that you’re not a great guy, because you are. And I had fun, but Stark, you were already out of my goddamn league when I asked you, and now you might as well be in the stratosphere. I’m on _welfare_ , Stark. You don’t got any business makin’ time with me, and I… I can’t afford this… whatever it is. Scandal.” 

“My publicist wants to meet you,” Tony said, trying not to think about the way Bucky said ‘Stark,’ like Tony was some sort of radioactive material that would invisibly give Bucky cancer or something. “Look, Darcy’s very good, she can clean up this mess for us, we just didn’t know…” 

“I don’t think so,” Bucky said. “It’ll be a flash in the pan if we’re not seen together again. I’m… I’m not going to ask you to take back the money you gave to Vision, the kids would be upset and that would kill me, but I’m going to ask you not to do it again. We don’t need your charity, Stark. Okay?” 

“Yeah.” Tony closed his eyes, feeling the burn of saline under his eyelids. “Okay. I’m getting the message here.” Of course he was. This was a message he knew all too well. It’s not me, it’s you. Shit, shit, shit. 

“Don’t call me.” 

“I won’t,” Tony said and shit, tears were already leaking out from under his lids and sliding down the planes of his face to pool in his ear. It wasn’t personal, he reminded himself. 

Bucky had to take care of his own life. Tony and Tony’s _feelings_ weren’t his responsibility. _Iron_ , Tony lectured himself. _Stark men are made of iron_. Except he was a disappointment on that front, as well. “I still--” The phone went dead before Tony could finish, _work Wednesdays at the food pantry._  

Well, maybe Bucky would remember. And avoid him. 

Christ. He was going to have to get up now, because that other bottle of whiskey was not going to Force float over to his hand. 

* * *

 

“You need to give Ty another target,” Darcy said. They’d met for coffee and Tony was hiding behind the darkest pair of sunglasses he owned. Why the fuck did Darcy want to sit outside on such a sunny day? She was deliberately torturing him, that’s what it was. “Call Sunset and go have semi-public sex in the limo,” she continued. “ _Something_.” 

“I am _not_ fucking Sunset Bain again,” Tony said, too loud for his own hungover ears. “Ever. It’s a rule. Don’t stick it in the crazy.” 

“Never stopped you before,” Darcy pointed out. 

“Fired, Lewis.” 

“You don’t want to do that, Tony,” Darcy cautioned. “Look, your boy --” 

“He’s not my boy,” Tony snapped. 

“Whatever. He’s got a police record. Inciting to riot, public drunkenness, assault and battery. He got off with time served and probation for six months on account of circumstances, but you’re going to be very lucky if Ty doesn’t find it out.” 

“What circumstances?” Not that it was any of his business what sort of shit Bucky got up to, but he was stupidly curious. He wanted any part of Bucky’s life he could reach and since Bucky had taken himself out of Tony’s life, this dirty gossip was all he was going to get. Tony already had a collection of the pictures Ty had been taking, following Bucky back and forth to work, god damn it. 

“His wife…” Darcy hesitated. “I don’t know if you want to hear this.” 

“Hit me.” 

“She ate his service pistol right after their son’s first birthday. In the room with the kid. I talked to my friend down at the 12th precinct and she agreed to _misplace_ the crime-scene photos because they are ugly and Ty wouldn’t hesitate to put them out there.” 

Tony shuddered. God. “Thank you,” Tony said. 

“As it is, Ty’s claiming he’s got nudes,” Darcy said. “I don’t know if that’s true, but this is getting out of hand.” 

“Fuck him,” Tony growled, his hand clenching on the table. He scanned the area and spotted a flash of light, across the street, of sunlight striking glass. Tony squinted. Yep, it was Ty, just behind a potted plant in the cafe across the street. “Excuse me.” 

“Tony, no!” Darcy grabbed for him, but Tony was already moving, fury and hurt and betrayal burning in his blood. 

Luckily, no one in the street was trying to get points for running down stupid industrialists, because Tony didn’t look as he dashed across the street, and Darcy was trapped on the far side of a taxi, too far away to catch him. 

Tony grabbed two handfuls of Ty’s shirt and the camera fell from his hands as Tony shoved him against the wall. 

“Make it stop,” Tony demanded, slamming Ty against the bricks. 

Ty pushed him away, straightening his shirt and bending to retrieve his camera with cool arrogance and the easy grace that had attracted Tony to him in the first place. “Hey, Tony,” he said, flirting and sly. “Think you’re inside my dance space, babe.” 

“What do you want, Stone?” 

“What do I always want, Tone?” Ty bit his lip and gave Tony his best smoldering look, the one that had fooled Tony so many times before. 

It did nothing for Tony now except to make him want to puke. “Money. Blow.” 

Ty stuck his thumb in his mouth, biting down. “Yeah. And you, of course. Always you.” 

“Stalking is really unattractive, you know.” 

“I take it you want the nudes,” Ty said, as Darcy joined them, her face a careful mask. 

“Just be straight with me for five seconds, Ty,” Tony said. “What. Do you want. To make this go away?” Tony didn’t bother appealing to Ty’s better nature because Tony knew for a fact that the man didn’t have one. Pointing out that he was harassing and destroying a good man, a combat veteran, a single father who’d already suffered enough, that would just be like dumping chum in front of the shark that Ty Stone was. “Give me a number.” 

Ty’s eyebrows went up and then he laughed. “You think it’s that easy, Tone? You _ruined_ me. I’m going to _hurt_ you, and when I think you’ve been hurt enough, I’m going to _end_ you.” 

“Thank you,” Darcy said cooly. “I got that on video, Mr. Stark. We can go now, if you want.” She whirled on Ty. “Pictures for the video, you cretinous lout.” 

“You poisonous little cunt,” Ty snapped. He made a grab for Darcy’s phone, but she danced out of range. Smoothly as if they’d rehearsed it, Tony brought his knee up into Ty’s gut as he lurched forward. 

Ty went down in a breathless heap, gasping and cursing. He struggled to get his hands under him and push up. Tony stepped on his hand. “Don’t fuck with me anymore, Ty. You will regret it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Food Bank of Southeastern Virginia](http://foodbankonline.org/how-to-help/donate-funds/donate-now/) is the food pantry that supports families in my area.
> 
> Thanks for your continued support, reading and liking and commenting on this fic. This time of year is particularly hard for families in need. If you've enjoyed this story, consider donating here, or to your own local food bank. 
> 
> I have an outline for this fic - 19 chapters are already complete and edited, with perhaps 5 or 6 chapters left to write.


	7. Sleight of Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony groaned, scrubbing his face with his uninjured hand, smearing blood over his skin. “Ex-boyfriend problems. I think I mentioned I knew all about end of relationship drama, right?”
> 
> “I think this goes beyond ‘relationship drama’ and all the way into conspiracy to commit assault with a deadly weapon, malicious wounding, and a whole slew of very felonious offenses, Tony,” Bucky said. He carefully leaned his forehead against Tony’s uninjured shoulder, the prosthetic arm around Tony’s waist to keep him still.
> 
> “Just so you know,” Tony said, voice shaking, “this was not how I’d planned to get into your arms.”
> 
> “I’m so glad you said that, because otherwise I would have been _convinced_ you set this up,” Bucky drawled sarcastically.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains graphic violence, discussion of rape, extortion, and blackmail

One of the worst things about being dirt poor, Bucky thought, was the lack of options. 

He couldn’t quit a bad job in a huff. Rumlow and his cronies had been all up in Bucky’s business since last week. Endlessly stumbling across copies of The Big Kiss photo -- Rumlow had even managed to sneak a copy into Bucky’s lunch tin -- was only the start of it, and Bucky was going to lose his job because of fighting if it kept up. He had a really hard time not wiping that damn duck-face off Runlow’s smug lips every time they crossed paths, and God help Bucky if he punched another person with that metal arm. 

He didn’t have much time to look for a new job. Not to mention that it wasn’t going to take five seconds of Googling for a potential employer to find the photos that Tiberius Stone kept publishing. What was that guy’s problem, anyway? It seemed weirdly personal -- Bucky hadn’t gone near Stark since that first date, and yet the photographer was still following Bucky around. 

He’d been denied most of his small pleasures. He couldn’t check his email without being flooded with mail from people he didn’t even know. Same with Facebook. He felt like he was under a spotlight, that people looked at him harder, saw more, than they usually did. He wasn’t invisible anymore and he hated it. Women gawked at him on the subway. People checked his ID closely, and sometimes he got that slow smirk when they read his name out loud. He’d taken Steve to the park the day before and they’d had to leave because a group of teenaged girls started taking pictures of him; when they’d turned their cameras on Steve, he’d had enough. 

And then there was the fact that he could not change his routine. 

He couldn’t send Wanda to the food pantry for him. He couldn’t change the day he went; the pantry’s hours were barely convenient as it was. And when he walked in, Tony was there, behind the counter. 

_Shit_. 

Bucky grabbed a box and started filling it as quickly as he could. He tried not to look at Tony; there had been a painful knot in his throat all week that loosened just as soon as he’d seen the man, so it was harder than he would have thought. He drew his baseball cap down further on his head. Tony didn’t say anything. He’d looked up as Bucky came in, but looked immediately back down as soon as he saw who it was. 

_Christ._ Bucky did not need to feel bad about the situation. It _wasn’t his fault_ , God damn it, and it was better for everyone if he just let this blow over. Didn’t help matters at all that Tony looked like a fucking mess. He was back in his cheap sweatshirt, but he also looked puffy, with that redness to his cheeks that suggested he’d been drinking hard for several days. Drunk driving, Bucky recalled, was what had gotten Tony here in the first place. Alcoholism was a problem that Tony had. 

He’d just turned the corner and was checking out the selection of canned goods in the back when the door opened again. 

The two men who came in were a mismatched couple. One about thirty or so, wiry and nerdy, with square-framed glasses and sandy-colored hair. The other was older, in his late forties at least, but he had a lean and dangerous look to him that made Bucky tense up immediately, going into high alert for the first time in years. 

Tony huffed. “Really? He’s sending you goons after me? Tell Ty that I remain unamused.” 

“I don’t think we’ll be telling Ty that you said anything but yes, you agree to the deal,” the nerd said. 

“Go to hell, Justin,” Tony said. “The deal’s not subject to last minute revisions.” 

“Oh, we think it is,” the older man said, crowding deep into Tony’s personal space. “You broke two of Ty’s fingers, and he doesn’t think he needs to stick to the original terms.” 

Tony sighed. “Look, you obviously practiced hard on your little monologue, Killian, so get it out of your system and tell me what Ty thinks he deserves. And then I’ll tell you -- and him -- to fuck off.” 

“Two million,” Killian said, in a “look I’m trying to be reasonable” tone that had Bucky’s hackles up instantly. “And it all goes away. You never hear about it again. And the nudes are yours, as a bonus.” 

Bucky carefully set the box down, not making a sound. He wasn’t sure what was going on, but this was creepy as fuck and he wanted his hands free. 

“Or,” Justin said, “you could go to Ty’s place, have a little personal conversation...” 

Bucky moved slow and sure through the food pantry, coming up behind the two men and trying to stay out of Tony’s line of vision, too. He didn’t want Tony to give his position away. 

He flicked a quick look at Justin, dismissing that guy as being too… weak, somehow. He didn’t look like the sort who’d throw a punch when things went south, but Killian… that man was dangerous. He wore a brown leather jacket and had his hands in the pockets. The right pocket was lower than the left. Possible weapon, Bucky noted. 

“Yeah, right,” Tony said. “Like I’m gonna sleep with Ty again. That doesn’t even make sense. He doesn’t even _like_ me anymore, even if I still wanted to. Which, for the record, I don’t.” 

“He knows you don’t want to,” Justin said. “That’s the _point_ , Anthony. You fucked him over, so now he wants to fuck you, and know that you hate every second of it. I think the two mil would be worth avoiding the plans he’s got for you, but that’s just me.” 

Aaand, that was talking about rape, which was disturbing. And gross. It lit a fire of pure rage inside Bucky’s brain. It didn’t matter that Bucky was mad at Tony, that this whole thing was getting way out of hand. This was not happening. No one was going to lay a violent hand on Tony, especially not what sounded like a blackmailing rapist. 

“I think you two should be going now,” Bucky said, stepping out from between the aisles. He put the metal hand on Justin’s shoulder and squeezed down hard, not taking his eyes off Killian. 

Justin whimpered, tried to get out of the grip, but Bucky barely noticed as Justin’s fingers clutched for purchase on his left wrist, prying at the cold alloy fingers. 

“Back off, boytoy,” Killian said, shifting his hand in his pocket. “This isn’t your concern.” 

“Kinda sounded like it was, don’t you think, Tony?” 

Tony had backed up several steps, looking both extremely concerned and a bit relieved, a contradiction in expressions that clenched at Bucky’s heart. “Um… think you’re really just caught in the crossfire, but yes. As those nude pictures I’m trying to keep out of the papers are yours.” 

Well, that was not a good thought. Justin screamed as Bucky’s fingers tightened again and Bucky let go, rather than break the man’s collarbone, no matter how much he might deserve it. Going to jail for assault wasn’t going to help anyone and Steve needed him more than Bucky needed to hurt Justin. Justin slumped to the floor the instant Bucky released him and -- Jesus Christ -- started crying. 

Killian moved, faster than anyone Bucky had met since he’d left the military. Bucky barely got a hand up in time to block the pistol that Killian yanked free. It came down hard on the metal arm. Bucky dropped down and came up under Killian’s arm, close enough that he couldn’t bring the gun to bear. “Tony, get the fuck down!” 

They struggled. Bucky knocked the gun aside and it went off, putting a bullet in the wall just above where Tony’s head had been moments before. Bucky found his center of gravity, grabbed, twisted. Killian landed in a shelf of boxed goods. 

“Jesus,” Tony swore, on the floor, arms shielding his head. “Not good, not good.” 

Justin scrambled to his feet, wild-eyed and frantic. The door’s bell jangled like crazy as he fled. 

“Yeah, you better run, punk,” Bucky yelled. Killian rolled over, turned his gun in Bucky’s direction. The shot was painfully loud in the small space. Singing agony ripped up the artificial nerve endings of Bucky’s arm as the bullet ricocheted off it, and Tony screamed in sudden pain, then went silent. 

Rage swelled. Bucky stalked Killian, not caring at all anymore if he lived or died, lost in the moment of bloodshed and battle. The gun fired off again, and again, and then he was on Killian, his metal fist clenched, flesh hand bunched in the man’s shirt. 

Killian’s jaw shattered when Bucky punched it. Killian went limp at his feet and Bucky was screaming, had been screaming since the first shot went off, he realized. Bucky choked himself to silence and dropped to his knees. He cocked his fist back again, hesitated. 

“Hey, hey,” Tony said, his voice cracking. “It’s okay. I’m okay. You can… you can stand down.” 

Bucky inhaled, smelling blood and gunpowder and the incongruously overwhelming scent of fake maple syrup. He looked down at himself. His pants were covered in syrup. Sparks were shooting out from his arm. His nerves were twitching all the way up the shoulder and into his chest, erratic signals making his fingers move of their own accord. 

“I… can’t…” Bucky gasped. “Can’t tell. Are you bleeding? Have you been shot?” 

Tony winced, dragged himself out from behind the counter. “Not exactly shot,” he said. His face was speckled with cuts, some bleeding freely. “I used to be an adventurer, until I took a candy jar to the face.” 

“Huh?” Oh. Glass. “Bad?” 

“Probably need some stitches on my back,” Tony said. “I think. Can’t see it, but…” 

Bucky heaved himself to his feet, kicked Killian’s gun out of his hand and toward the back of the room. The back of Tony’s sweatshirt was soaked with blood and a huge chunk of glass was sticking out of his shoulder. “Christ, Tony,” Bucky said. “This looks…” 

“Like we’ve been attacked by a maniac with a gun. I agree.” Tony’s eyes were wild and he was panting, his lips an unhealthy shade of gray. _Fuck_. Going into shock. Bucky’d seen that before on the battlefield and it was never good. 

“Can you breathe?” Bucky asked. Tony nodded, dizzily. Bucky peeled his tee off and folded it into a pad. Gunfire in New York City was sure to be reported, but in this part of the city, it might take the cops a while to respond. Poor parts of town just weren’t a priority. “This is gonna hurt. Hold still, okay?” He got the pad in place, just to the side of the glass, grabbed hold of the shard and pulled it out in one smooth motion. Tony gasped and gagged. Bucky jammed the pad over the bleeding cut, pressing down and praying that he wasn't driving glass splinters deeper into Tony’s flesh. 

Sirens wailed in the distance and Bucky leaned back against the wall, drawing Tony closer so he could keep pressure on the wound. “What the fuck was all that about?” 

Tony groaned, scrubbing his face with his uninjured hand, smearing blood over his skin. “Ex-boyfriend problems. I think I mentioned I knew all about end of relationship drama, right?” 

“I think this goes beyond ‘relationship drama’ and all the way into conspiracy to commit assault with a deadly weapon, malicious wounding, and a whole slew of very felonious offenses, Tony,” Bucky said. He carefully leaned his forehead against Tony’s uninjured shoulder, the prosthetic arm around Tony’s waist to keep him still. 

“Just so you know,” Tony said, voice shaking, “this was not how I’d planned to get into your arms.” 

“I’m so glad you said that, because otherwise I would have been _convinced_ you set this up,” Bucky drawled sarcastically. 

Tony chuckled, winced, inhaled, laughed again. “Oh, god, don’t make me laugh, that hurts.” He groaned. 

“Stop squirmin’,” Bucky complained. “M’ arm’s shooting all sorts of bad data up here and I’m gonna puke on you if you don’t quit it.” 

Tony tried to peer over his shoulder but Bucky dry-heaved once and he immediately went back to being perfectly still. “What happened to it? Being all involved in strategic concealment and everything, I sort of missed the fight.” 

“You were hidin’. Smartest thing to do during gunplay, if you’re unarmed. Your friend shot me. Like three times,” Bucky said. “Hand, elbow, shoulder. It’s pretty well busted up.” 

“He is not my friend,” Tony pointed out. “I’m not even sure he’s Ty’s friend. I’m pretty sure Killian doesn’t have friends.” 

The police and ambulance arriving put an end to the conversation. Bucky saw Tony safe into an ambulance (sitting up, to avoid aggravating his shoulder wound) before he was arrested. Which was completely unfair, but not entirely unexpected. But the police put cuffs on Killian too, and escorted both of them to the ER. They let Bucky keep his phone, which was unexpectedly nice. It was awkward to use with one busted prosthetic and his good wrist handcuffed to a gurney, but at least he could text Wanda and let her know what was up. 

About two hours after he arrived at the hospital, a strawberry blonde woman in very high heels stalked into his room, followed by two guys in suits who she claimed were Stark Industries lawyers. In short order, Bucky was uncuffed, and one of the lawyers started listing out what he could and should not say to the cops. When the lawyer had finished, the woman, Miss Potts, curtly informed him that, having saved Tony’s life (Bucky wasn’t sure he did that -- it might not have escalated to gunplay if he hadn’t gotten involved -- but he had certainly saved Tony from either extortion or rape, so he didn’t argue) he was now personally under the protection of Stark Industries’s legal team and that all his medical and technical bills were to be directed to the company. 

She was terrifying and Bucky couldn’t bring himself to argue with her, even as he stewed in a hot mess of guilt and shame. She didn’t leave, either, making herself comfortable in the visitor’s chair and -- thank God -- all but ignoring him as she worked on a tablet and fielded phone calls filled with incomprehensible business jargon. 

About an hour after that, Wanda and Pietro showed up, swinging Steve between them. Steve rushed in, and Bucky winced, trying not to fall out of the hospital bed as the artificial nerves in his arm spit all kinds of misinformation at him. He was definitely going to lose his job… there was no way he’d be back at work any time soon. _Shit._  

“Hey, Daddy,” Steve said as Wanda lifted him onto the bed. “Pietro says you’re a hero. Is that true?” 

“Yes, he is,” Miss Potts stated firmly, startling Bucky. He’d thought her attention was focused entirely on her tablet. “Your father saved a very important person, and we mean to see him well rewarded for it.” 

Bucky flushed and ducked his chin. “Anyone would have done the same.” 

Miss Potts gave him a level stare; she could have given intimidation lessons to his drill sergeant back in Basic. “You are a fool if you think that, Mr. Barnes. And since you don’t look like a fool, I’ll assume you’re being modest. In any case, we’re all grateful. Tony’s occasionally an a--” She glanced at Steve and continued smoothly, “a jerk, but he’s our jerk, and we need him.” She checked her phone. “Tony’s out of surgery now, so I’m going; I’ll need to be there when he wakes up. Here’s my card. Call me if you need anything at all.” She handed the card to Wanda, her half-smile telling Bucky quite clearly that she knew _Bucky_ would never call her, but that Wanda might have a little more sense. 

“That woman is a little scary,” Pietro said as she left the room, her heels tapping against the floor. 

Bucky held out his hand, index finger and thumb spread about two inches. “Just a bit.”


	8. Bird in the Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Wanda: Dr going to rmv arm and send home_
> 
> Tony hit the call button and a moment later, Bucky’s niece came on the line. “If you’re gonna do something,” she said, and he heard her footsteps and the door closing behind her, “you better do it fast. They’ve got him doped to the gills to take it off.”
> 
> “Idiots,” Tony said, thinking fast. “Can he walk?”
> 
> “No,” Wanda said. She sniffled loudly. “They brought us a wheelchair for him, but… “
> 
> “Yeah, okay,” Tony said. “Look, do you trust me?”

Tony’s lawyers had just finished telling him shit he didn’t want to hear -- namely that there was no way to pin conspiracy on Ty, and that Killian had made bail and was already on the loose -- when the package he’d been waiting for finally arrived. 

The hospital had sent him home the day before, wearing a goddamn tube in his chest with a flutter valve to keep his fucking lung inflated. The surgery had been quick, at least, even if he’d lost about 6% of his upper right lung. Completely functional, he’d been assured, although he might experience shortness of breath and some pain as it healed. 

Of course, “completely functional” came with a long list of caveats and addendums. He’d be more likely to contract bronchitis, for instance. And he should never even consider taking up smoking, or for that matter, spending time with people who did.

  
On the other hand, apparently the fact that he was short worked in his favor; tall, thin people were more susceptible to secondary lung collapse, after the first time. First time he’d ever been grateful for that particular facet of his life. 

Nightmares of Bucky screaming, of the gunfire, of Ty, had haunted his sleep until he was driven out of bed to pace around restlessly. At least now that his package had arrived, there was something he could _do_ while he wasn’t sleeping. 

He’d set his fabricators to work, producing the plates for the bionic prosthetic, what they called Mark VI, using the measurements from Bucky’s previous maintenance visit. He was grateful that, two years ago, Pepper had insisted that Stark Industries become HIPAA compliant, so he was able to obtain Bucky’s records -- although Pepper had snuck the release into the giant stack of things she’d had Bucky sign at the hospital, which he’d actually done by making an X on everything, since he was left-handed and his left hand was currently all shot up. 

The internal components, however, he couldn’t make onsite; the biometric scanners and feedback receptors were specialized and only produced at the plant in Florida. Assembly didn’t take too long, only three cups of coffee and one rest break because fuck, his chest hurt, before he was ready. He’d need the power core from Bucky’s current arm, but he’d asked Wanda some casual questions and based on her answers, the one there was still functional. 

Which was good, because the power core was the more delicate part of the install. The arm unit itself could merely be detached and a new one placed on the socket join that had been initially installed. If the power core was busted, however, that was _surgery_ , and while Tony had several PhDs, none of them were in actual medical fields. 

Tony ran his fingers down the length of the arm, remembering that Bucky had a red star on the shoulder of his original model. He wondered if it meant anything particular, reached for his etching tools, then decided he should make the offer, instead. If Bucky wanted the star back, Tony could make that happen. If not, there were certainly a slew of other options, including a flesh toned paint cover, if he wanted that. Some people did, even though the arm was still noticeably non-organic, no matter what color it was. 

Tony’s phone buzzed. 

He packed the arm away in its traveling case with custom foam packing, and locked it. There was no way he could carry it for any length of time with the stupid valve in his chest, though. He sent Happy a text to come down to the shop and that he’d need a ride, then checked his texts. 

_Wanda: Dr going to rmv arm and send home_  

Tony hit the call button and a moment later, Bucky’s niece came on the line. “If you’re gonna do something,” she said, and he heard her footsteps and the door closing behind her, “you better do it fast. They’ve got him doped to the gills to take it off.” 

“Idiots,” Tony said, thinking fast. “Can he walk?” 

“No,” Wanda said. She sniffled loudly. “They brought us a wheelchair for him, but… “ 

“Yeah, okay,” Tony said. “Look, do you trust me?” 

“What?” 

“I’m going to send my driver for him. Happy can bring him here to recover. I’m… look, my lawyers were just here, Killian’s back on the street, and Ty knows where you live. I don’t know… I hope Ty’s not going to do anything stupid, but based on past behavior, we certainly can’t count on it. Are your brother and the kid there with you?” 

“Yeah, of course we are all here,” she said. 

“Good. Come with him, I’ll put you up for a few days while we decide what to do. I want you all to be safe, and right now…” 

“Yeah, okay, sure,” Wanda said. “Thank you. I… didn’t know what I was going to do. I can’t take care of both Stevie and Uncle Bucky at the same time. I… thank you.” 

“No problem,” Tony said. “ _Don’t_ let them put your uncle in a cab. I’ll get my driver to you right away.” 

Tony hung up, texted Happy again with the new orders. 

_Happy: Could have done that before I got into the building, boss._

_Tony: No, probably couldn’t’ve_

_Happy: Is that even a word_

_Tony: is that pertinent to your job_

_Happy: on my way_

_Tony: good man_

 

* * *

 

“Doped to the gills” didn’t even begin to cover it. Tony had looked more sober after a four-day bender. Bucky was wearing a white tank and gray sweatpants. His left arm was missing, the socket join covered by a cappie of black stretchy fabric. Bucky himself was gone; his eyes were open but there was nobody home. They’d doped him up at the hospital so thoroughly that he was completely non-responsive. Tony swore under his breath. If they’d sent Bucky home like this, with Killian on the loose… he’d have been killed. Tony shuddered. 

“Happy,” Tony said, “get a security team together, go over to Mr. Barnes’ home, get clothes and anything else they might need. Medications, phones, toys. Miss Wanda, to keep the lawyers happy, I’m going to ask you to sign a release giving us permission to do that. While I’m printing that off, please tell Happy what you need and where he might find it. Also, Happy, bring all the electronics, computers, you know the drill. Don’t leave anything there for Ty to find.” 

“Got it, boss,” Happy said. 

Pietro was pushing the wheelchair and Wanda had the kid on her hip, even though he looked too big to be carried like that. The boy -- Steve, Tony recalled -- was thin, with a shock of blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a sweet, double-curve bow of a mouth. He was staring around Tony’s penthouse like he’d never seen one before. Of course, he probably hadn’t. Aaaah, it was the indoor water fountain that had the boy’s attention; a sheet of glass that descended from the second floor and into the main entertainment space. The filtered aquarium at the bottom housed about two dozen exotic koi and a couple of more pragmatic aquatic turtles. 

“You like my fish pool?” Tony asked. “You can go look, if you want. Just don’t fall in, and don’t try to touch the fish, they don’t like that.” 

Wanda put the boy down and heaved a sigh. “Thanks. He’s up late and we didn’t get much rest last night, so if I wasn’t carrying him, he was trying to climb up into his dad’s lap, and… sorry it took so long to get here. After saying they were going to discharge him, we got pinned down again for paperwork.” 

“Did they, um, give you the arm back, or are they trying to keep it?” 

Wanda shook her head. “They took him into the surgery and he came back without it.” 

“Well, I’ll have to get on that, too,” Tony said. “Come on, I’ll show you where you can sleep, you look like you’re ready to drop over. I am, too, for that matter.” He tapped at the flutter valve absently; it didn’t _hurt_ , but the tube that went into his chest wiggled in there when he touched it and it felt weird in a way that was a compulsion, like biting his cheek after the first time he’d bitten it, or rubbing at his eye long past when it did anything but make the situation worse. 

The south corner of the penthouse contained two neat bedrooms, connected to a small sitting room and one bathroom; the entire suite had a wrap-around balcony with a tiny roof garden. “I didn’t know how you wanted to arrange for sleeping, but there’s a fold-out in the sofa, and…” 

Wanda stared at him for a moment, like she wanted to hit him, or maybe hug him and was pondering which move would be more appropriate. Steve had already run off to explore and was disgusted to discover that Tony had activated the safety locks to the balcony. Adventuresome kids, he figured, did not need to fall off the sixty-second floor. “It’s lovely,” she said, at last. 

“I’m going to put your uncle on a cot in my workshop for the time being; I already have medical equipment there to monitor his status. Tomorrow, hopefully, he’ll be sober enough for me to do an install--” 

“What?” Pietro demanded, spinning around. “An install of what?” 

“I put together a new prosthetic for him,” Tony said. “Newest model. Least I could do, after his got shot up while saving my life.” 

Pietro opened his mouth like he was going to say something angry, and Tony braced himself for it; he had no intention of backing down on this issue. Wanda put her hand on her brother’s wrist. “Let it go,” she said. “You can’t eat pride, Pietro Maximoff.”

Tony nodded to them. “Make yourselves comfortable. If you need anything, I’m just down the hall.” He pointed. “Happy should be back with your stuff in a few hours. Shut the door if you’re sleeping and he’ll leave it for you out here. Kitchen is up the hall, that way and to the right; there’s probably food in the fridge, but I don’t eat here most of the time, so I’m not sure. Soda, at least, and there’ll be a fruit basket on the counter, housekeeping leaves it there every few days. Bananas and oranges and that kind of thing. If you’re hungry, I can get delivery.” 

Wanda’s fingers never left her brother’s skin, but she leaned forward and hugged Tony, very gently. “We’re fine. Thank you. Go.” 

Tony pushed Bucky’s wheelchair into the hall, grateful that he’d had all the plush carpeting ripped out and the hardwood installed. 

The workshop was once a suite similar to the guest rooms where he’d stashed the Maximoffs, but he’d had the whole thing ripped wide open, with all the non-support walls removed to form a huge space. His fabricator was on the interior wall, two work benches nearby, a safety station on the north wall. Computer banks huddled together with the OLED display monitors on the east wall. It wasn’t quite a movie science lab with useless Tesla coils, knife-switches, and electric Jacob’s ladders for ambience and a nest of test tubes, beakers and glasswork with assorted colored liquids (although he’d totally done that one time for a Halloween party) but Tony did have to admit, his workshop would probably look unnerving to anyone who wasn’t used to it. 

Tony had cleared a spot for the hospital bed, with its monitoring equipment and extendable limb-support, for work on the prosthetics. It wasn’t as good as the setup he had at the Stark Industries compound, but for a rough throw-together, he was pretty sure it would suffice. He lowered the bed as far as he could, rolled Bucky up to it -- the man had still not come out of his drug stupor, but he did seem to be keeping his eyes open for longer -- and then pondered the problem of getting Bucky from the chair and into the bed without hurting Bucky or ripping out his flutter valve. Tony was pretty sure Bucky weighed more than fifteen pounds, which was the limit on what Tony was supposed to carry until they took the tube out. 

Luckily, Happy returned while Tony was still pondering it, with two members of the security team in tow, carrying the Maximoff/Barnes belongings. Tony stuck his head out into the hall. _Fuck…_ one of the security guys was Coulson, the over-zealous bodyguard who’d threatened Tony with a taser at one point. Admittedly, Tony had probably deserved it; he’d been drunk as hell and, if he recalled correctly, convinced he could fly. Still. “Didn’t I fire you?” he asked, then shook his head. “Nevermind. Come here. I need someone to lift heavy things.” 

Happy and Coulson got Bucky situated on the hospital bed, and Tony sent the other guy -- Mack, Tony thought -- out for snacks. “You know, whatever,” he said. “Food. Suitable for a couple of twenty-somethings, one kid, and some of the soft, bland shit that recovering convalescents should have.” 

Bucky roused a little at that, opened his eyes, blinked a few times. “No nuts.” 

“Huh?” 

“‘eve’s’ler’ic.” 

Tony blinked, tried to figure out if that was English or not. 

Coulson handed Tony a medical ID bracelet. “We found three of these in the apartment, sir.” The silver band was pressed with a rod of Asclepius on one side, and a list of illnesses on the other: asthma, severe peanut allergies, severe penicillin allergies, angina, anemia, rheumatic fever, arrhythmia. Jesus Christ, was there anything that _wasn’t_ wrong with this kid?  “And there was a box of pills like my grandmother uses,” Coulson continued. “The young woman, Miss Maximoff, has them now. I assume she knows what to do.” 

It wasn’t until Tony was alone with Bucky in his workshop and had gotten the man hooked up to various monitoring devices that he realized Bucky still didn’t really know where he was, and there was no way Tony could just _leave him_ , to wake up alone and scared. Oh, well, he’d slept on the couch in here before, he could do it again. His doctor would never know. Tony kicked off his shoes, dimmed the lights down to a soft, barely-there flicker, and settled in under the hideously ugly Lord of the Rings embroidered blanket that Bruce had given him as a Christmas present a few years back and Pepper had tried to throw away at least eight times.


	9. In Safe Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky chewed his lip. He was near tears, angry and upset and grateful and it would be so easy, just to let Tony take care of everything. And all it would cost was Bucky’s pride and his sense of self-worth. One soul, on a plate. Fuck.
> 
> But he had no trouble at all imagining Killian coming into his home, pointing a gun at Steve. The thought made him ill, dizzy, and terrified; his heart rate spiked again and black sparkles pulsed across his field of vision. If anything happened to Steve, Bucky would follow his wife’s example and eat his gun. There would be nothing left for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: panic attack and suicide ideation in this chapter. second section is smut. if you don't like smut, read until Tony finishes working on the arm, and then stop.

 

Bucky woke with a start, his heart fast and furious in his chest, lungs pumping like bellows. He tried to push himself up and couldn’t, because fuck fuck fuck, his left arm was _missing_ , fuck and it didn’t hurt, but he 

was ( _the hospital was thick and noisy and noisome and the nurses were practical and heartless_ ) 

right ( _strapped down to the bed for days, pumped full of medication_ ) 

back ( _he’d lost his wedding band when he lost his arm and telling Sarah that hurt almost more than the wound_ ) 

there ( _itches, and when his fingers go to scratch, they close on_ nothing _and it happens so often that_ ) 

“Hey,” a voice said, a voice that shouldn’t be familiar, but it was. Bucky opened his eyes and stared blankly, his heart still thundering but the sounds of monitor alarms abruptly gone. “Well, that was a wake-up call, sorry about that, I-- Hey, soldier, you in there?” 

Bucky turned his head to the left, slowly, not wanting to see the ruins of his arm, the thick white bandages, but the voice was on his left, so he had to. The room looked like some sort of future-tech torture chamber and he had no idea where he was or how he’d gotten there He’d been... in the hospital, yes. Cuddling with his son after Steve had a full-blown anxiety-induced asthma attack-- 

“Where’s Steve?” Bucky snapped, zeroing in on the critical thing. 

“With your niece and nephew in my guest suite,” the voice said and Bucky finally looked up and saw-- “Tony?” 

“Ah, good, there you are. It’s all right,” Tony said. “Sorry about the abduction thing, but Killian made bail and I… I’m sorry. I would have asked you, but you were in no shape for it. Wanda’s been acting as your medical liaison and--” 

Bucky tried to push himself up again, god damn it, he was all fucking lopsided and “Where is my arm?” he tried to demand, but his voice came out in a panicked whine, breathless and terrified. 

Tony scrubbed at his face, wearily. “The hospital removed it before discharging you. I’m probably going to sue on your behalf to get it back, because even damaged, the components are worth a small fortune and it’s not theirs to keep. Hey, hey, I know, okay, lay back, it’s all right, I see that your arm’s giving you fits. I guess they didn’t turn off the bio-feedback and there’s no data incoming. Here.” Tony peeled a stretchy black piece of fabric from his shoulder cap and twisted a slender tool up _inside the shattered remains of his arm_. Everything went white for a few seconds, and then... 

“Aaaaaah,” Bucky breathed, the sudden release from pain and confusion as miraculous as a kiss. There was nothing quite so pleasurable as the cessation of pain. 

“So.“ Tony pulled up an office chair on wheels and sat next to Bucky’s bedside. “Informed consent. Which technically has already happened because you did sign the forms. But we pulled a sneaky so that I could get you out of the hospital and into my care legally, and you just signed everything they gave you without asking questions, which as your friend, I would advise you to _not ever do again_ , but I accept that you were drugged out and in pain, and you don’t have a lawyer to advocate on your behalf. 

“Anyway. I have set up a new prosthetic for you, a Mark VI model, fabricated to your measurements. As I invented the damn thing, I am fully qualified to install it, which I will do as soon as you wish. If you’d prefer the older model, once I get it back from the hospital, I can repair and reinstall that instead. I would personally recommend the VI, as most of the maintenance is user-enabled, which will cut down on your costs. There’s a subscription service to get the coolant packs and bio-lubrication gel. I can teach your niece how to replace those; it’s pretty simple. You could do it yourself if you weren’t left-arm dominant. Some of the access points are at the back of the arm, and working while looking in a mirror is difficult at the best of times. Some users have been able to do the install by touch alone, so perhaps you could practice, I don’t know.” 

Bucky opened his mouth to say… something, but Tony was moving right along and didn’t let him get a word in. 

“As for the rest, Aldrich Killian made bail and Ty Stone already knows where you live. Those two facts made me uncomfortable for your safety, especially knowing you were drugged up and have dependents. Bad enough that you got shot -- horrible as I feel about it, you chose to involve yourself, you could have just as easily stayed hidden, so… you’re an adult and I don’t get to tell you that you should _not ever_ put yourself in harm’s way for me because I’m not worth that -- I didn’t want either of them going on some sort of revenge rampage and having Wanda or your kid getting hurt. That’s guilt I don’t need.” 

Now Bucky was going to have to say something, because what, did Tony really think he was going to stand by and… 

“Hush,” Tony said, holding up a hand. “You can have your turn in a minute; right now, I’m talking. So. In the interest of you and your family not getting shot or harassed or anything else, I brought you here. You’re in my home for the time being, and after we get you better, we can discuss what you want to do. I can probably get you into some sort of witness protection, or help you find a new residence or something, at least while we wait for the whole thing to go to trial, and keep in mind that we cannot currently connect Ty to Killian for conspiracy to commit, and Ty has a lot of influence. He has blackmail material on several of the important people in the city. 

“Last thing, and then you can have your go, because I know you probably have a lot of things you want to say, okay? You saved my life. I am both exceptionally grateful and completely disgusted with myself that it became necessary. If I hadn’t made such stupid decisions in the past, none of this would have happened. And I assumed that Ty had given up after the--” Tony waved a hand as if gesturing to the past. “-- incident where he drugged and tried to kidnap me, which I see now was delusional on my part. I don’t want to railroad you or get in the way of your agency, but I will say that my home is probably the safest place for you to be right now and I’m going to ask you to consider staying here, until this situation is resolved. If… if you don’t feel that’s reasonable, I will do everything I can to make sure that you and your family are safe. I don’t want you to feel like this is a handout, or… Look, I don’t have any kids or even any other family, it’s not taking anything away from anyone for me to repay-- Not that I can ever _actually_ repay you for what you’ve done, but I would appreciate it if you would let me try.” 

The silence, for a long moment, was deafening. 

Bucky chewed his lip. He was near tears, angry and upset and grateful and it would be so _easy_ , just to let Tony take care of everything. And all it would cost was Bucky’s pride and his sense of self-worth. One soul, on a plate. _Fuck_. 

But he had no trouble at all imagining Killian coming into his home, pointing a gun at _Steve_. The thought made him ill, dizzy, and terrified; his heart rate spiked again and black sparkles pulsed across his field of vision. If anything happened to Steve, Bucky would follow his wife’s example and eat his gun. There would be nothing left for him. 

So. One serving of pride, coming right up. 

“All right,” he said, rough, turning his head so Tony couldn’t see how much this was costing him. “We’ll stay, for a while.” 

“Good, good,” Tony said. “So, new arm? I can get started with that, as soon as you’re ready. Although you should probably eat and use the facilities and anything else you want to do. I’ll get Pietro to help you up, because I can’t.” 

Bucky twisted his head back toward Tony. “Why not?” 

Tony heaved a sigh, then touched his chest. “I… collapsed lung. From the… you know, glass and stuff. I’m not supposed to be active, or lift anything heavy, or -- there’s a list of things I’m not supposed to do, really. It’s long.” 

Bucky felt all the blood drain from his face. “Are you shitting me? God, Tony! You should be _in bed_.” He hadn’t saved Tony’s life, he’d nearly gotten Tony _killed_. If it hadn’t been for the ricochet, Tony would be unhurt and-- 

“Hey!” Tony said, grabbing Bucky’s shoulder and shaking him once, hard. “Don’t do that. Killian chose to open fire. That is not _on you_.” 

“You don’t know what I was thinkin’,” Bucky protested. The shaking was making his stomach feel worse, but Tony’s hand on his shoulder was doing weird things to other parts of his anatomy. 

“Kinda do,” Tony said. “I recognize misplaced blame, Buckaroo. I see it in the mirror almost every damn day. So. Bathroom. Breakfast, and then I’ll get you set up with a shiny new arm. Sorry, it is still shiny…” 

* * *

 

Getting the new arm installed was _torture_. 

Oh, it didn’t hurt, but Bucky’s right hand was clamped so tight on the rails of his hospital bed that his fingers ached and his shoulder was shaking. He was trying to control his breathing, because Tony had hooked up all the various medical monitors again and every time Bucky’s heart rate spiked over 95 bpm, Tony stopped what he was doing until it slowed again. 

Once the surgery was complete, it had been easy to install the hookup for the old arm. And he’d been doped for it. And the biofeedback had been significantly less sensitive. 

He’d lost a lot, with the old arm. He got readings on pressure and heat, enough that he could pick up a glass or know when he was too close to a fire, that sort of thing. But he couldn’t tell anything more than temperature extremes, couldn’t feel the softness of a cat’s fur, or the gentle warmth of his son’s skin below the artificial palm. This arm, however, gave him all that feedback. 

And he was extremely aware of Tony’s breath against the metal surface, the delicate work of his fingers and tools _inside_ Bucky’s shoulder, the tickle of Tony’s hair as he twisted around, trying to get a better look at what he was doing, and it was the most _erotic_ experience of Bucky’s life. He was hard and aching and it took everything he had to try to keep it to himself, because… because… He couldn’t remember, god, this was _the worst_ … and… 

“Okay, all done,” Tony said, clicking the panel back into place. “Woah, you look _wrecked_. You were supposed to _tell me_ if it hurt. I mean, it shouldn’t, but everyone reacts a little differently and--” 

Bucky turned his head to stare at Tony, to drink in that beautiful face. “Didn’t hurt,” he said, biting at his lip and wanting, still, _needing_ , and there was something he was supposed to remember but it seemed very distant, very unimportant, whatever it was. 

“Well, if it didn’t hurt then--” Tony broke off as he caught sight of the pup-tent Bucky was making out of the bed’s blankets. “Oh.” 

Bucky raised his hand, _his left hand_ , and it felt more like his hand ever had before, and gently, slowly, touched the side of Tony’s face. He could feel. _Everything_. The warm skin, the rasp of Tony’s unshaven cheek, the bone underneath, the whisper of Tony’s breath against his thumb. 

“You’re crying,” Tony said. He ran a thumb along Bucky’s cheek and it came away wet. 

Bucky nodded, roughly. “Yeah, I…” 

He was never sure, later, if he’d pulled Tony down, or if Tony had yanked him up, but they met somewhere in the middle and Tony’s lips were on his, Tony’s hand in his hair, tugging his head back until he lolled backward, exposing his throat. Bucky opened his mouth with a gasp and Tony’s tongue darted out to taste him, and Bucky was gone, gone, wanting, attacking Tony’s mouth as if it were territory to be claimed in battle. 

Tony’s mouth dragged across his face to nuzzle at Bucky’s ear, licking at the shell, nipping at his earlobe until Bucky was panting. He cupped his left hand against the back of Tony’s neck. The whine and click of the servos and plates was so soft that he might not have heard them if he couldn’t feel the motions in his chest. The pads of his fingers could feel individual hairs on the back of Tony’s neck and god, it was too much. With his right hand, he touched Tony’s jaw, used his thumb to hold Tony’s face right where he wanted it, breathing in the smell of Tony’s cologne and coffee and skin. 

“Do you want…” Tony whispered, hot against his ear and his hand trailed down Bucky’s chest. “I can…?” 

“God, yes, please,” Bucky said. He didn’t know what Tony was asking, exactly, and he _didn’t care_ , he wanted _everything_ , would do whatever Tony wanted, he just needed it now, now, _now_. 

“Totally doesn’t count,” Tony muttered, reaching under the blankets and under the waistband of Bucky’s sweat pants and god, _there_ , curled his fingers around the shaft of Bucky’s cock. 

“Doesn’t count as what?” Bucky asked, going a little cold, not enough to stop him, god, no, not that, but… nnnnngh, he arched into that touch, those expert fingers. 

“ _Exertion_ ,” Tony said. “Pepper swore she’d skin me alive this time if I went against medical orders.” He curved his fingers and Bucky surged up, so close... 

“Oh, yeah, okay, that’s fine, here, let me… ” Bucky said.. He shifted until he was sitting up and then pulled Tony up onto the cot with him -- his metal arm was _strong_ , oh, god, he could lift Tony up with one hand -- and arranged him over Bucky’s thighs. “Well, heaven forbid you _exert_ yourself.” 

“Nah,” Tony said, unzipping his jeans and Bucky got his first glimpse of Tony’s prick, bent to the right and thick and uncut and beautiful. “You can do it for me.” 

“Uh-huh,” Bucky said, getting his right hand in between them and stroking Tony, making his hips rock, achingly, against Bucky’s dick, and oh, didn’t that feel amazing? Tony’s eyes fluttered shut as he bit at his bottom lip. 

They thrust at each other for a few minutes. It was awkward and the angle was bad, but still, it was so, so good. Tony touched Bucky’s lips and Bucky opened his mouth, sucking in two of Tony’s fingers. They tasted faintly medicinal from the biolubricant inside the arm and then that was gone, and Bucky was tasting nothing but Tony’s skin. He had to bite back a whine of protest when Tony pulled his fingers out with a soft sucking sound, but Tony’s hand slid down between them and oh, _oh_ , _yes_. 

Between the tangle of their clothes and the blankets, it took Tony a moment, but he got them pressed together, his spit-glazed fingers wrapping around both and stroking them _together_ , velvet skin and warm heat. Bucky was spurting little drops of precome and Tony used that, too, soft and wet and slick. 

“God…” 

“No, just me,” Tony said, his laugh a frisson of molten heat down Bucky’s spine. Every muscle in his body tensed up, tight, tight, almost couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t… _ah!_ He grunted as Tony stroked up and _squeezed_. And then Bucky was gasping for air, every nerve ending dancing with some electric glee as he spilled over Tony’s hand, oh, god, god, god, so good, so… 

Tony pumped his fist a few more times, milking out the last of Bucky’s orgasm, and that was almost too much, wet and heat and slick sending sharp electric jolts down his limbs.  Just before it became unbearable Tony groaned and bent forward, and Bucky felt warm, sticky fluid splatter against his bare chest and, god, that was _hot_ , that was-- 

Tony hissed and pressed his hand against his chest with a wince. Bucky’s easy lassitude vanished in a rush of guilt and icy concern as he berated himself, god dammit he should never-- “You okay?” 

“Yeah,” Tony said, tapping at the spot, his fingers dancing absently over his sternum. “Just feels… weird. I’ll be glad when they take it out.” 

“I’m sorry, I’m…” Bucky felt his neck heating and he couldn’t quite meet Tony’s gaze. 

“Don’t _apologize_ ,” Tony said, eyes wide. He turned Bucky’s chin, gently, then leaned over, heedless of the mess of come and sweat across Bucky’s chest and kissed him. “That was amazing, and I’m glad I… Yeah, wow. Please don’t be sorry. I wouldn’t change a _thing_. Well, no, maybe a little. More nudity might have been nice.” 

Bucky laughed, then, the stone-chilled lump in his throat fading. “Okay, okay… But…” 

“Yeah, no more _exertion_ until this fucking thing comes out, I got it.”


	10. Idle Hands do the Devil’s Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Woah, woah,” Tony said, wincing as the struggling kid bumped the flutter-valve. “Where’s the fire?”
> 
> “I want to pet the kitty,” Steve pouted, still trying to twist out of Tony’s arms. 
> 
> Tony sighed and looked around. Sure enough, there was Loki, washing his face disdainfully on the far side of the pool. He wasn’t supposed to be outside. The decks were decidedly unsafe for cats, and all the housecleaning staff knew it, but there the damn cat was. Again. Loki had to be a fucking magician wizard cat or something.

Darcy Lewis was the most complicated person Tony knew. She dressed like a poet or a philosophy major, all soft shapes, thick scarves and multiple layers, but she talked a mile a minute and was as ruthless as a day-trader. She looked like a marshmallow, acted like a ball of fire, and had a solid core of steel right in the middle. She was the _best_ at what she did, which was tell stories that people liked in a way that got people to believe the stories because they wanted to. 

She had this philosophy that she called the First Rule of Media, which went something like this: People are stupid; they can only rarely tell the difference between a lie and the truth, and yet because they are confident that they can they are all the easier to fool. 

Using this guiding tool, she’d been able to put a stop to the steadily depreciating value of Tony’s reputation, which was hurting the company. She’d brought things around, kept him off social media and mostly out of the public eye, and puffed up and encouraged all the good works that Stark Industries had gotten involved in. Tony had moved from the status of “human train-wreck” to “party-boy” and finally all the way up to “somewhat respectable with a few bad habits who made some mistakes in the past, but was trying hard to fix them.” 

She stormed into the lab like a miniature tornado. 

“You are both in so much troub--” She stopped dead, looked from one to the other and back again, and then a slow smile spread across her face. “ _Oh_. Glad I hit traffic, I guess. Shame I missed it, though.” 

Bucky turned brilliantly red under Darcy’s gleeful inspection. 

“Oh, he’s even better looking than the pictures, Tony, yeah, this’ll be great. But first, you both need to shower. Post-coital glow is nice and everything, but that’s not the image we’re going for right now. Christine Everhart’s on her way in like an hour-- Yeah, I know, Tony, but she’s a good photographer and she’ll tell the story we want her to tell.” 

“Wait, what?” Bucky interjected, his hand held up to protest. 

“Nope. You don’t get a choice anymore, Slot-Machine,” Darcy said. “If you’d called Tony _last week_ , like any sensible person, we could taken your wishes into consideration for the spin plan, but now you’re just stuck with it. I’ve been working for _eight years now_ to keep Tony’s name out of the gutter, despite the fact that he practically takes up residence there, and I’m not about to let that hard work be wasted. Now, you do what I say, when I say it, and if you’re really good, I’ll let you say thank you afterward.” 

Bucky turned helpless, slightly shellshocked eyes on Tony. 

“Don’t look at me, I always do everything Darcy tells me,” Tony said. “She’s done an excellent job since we hired her.” 

“You are a lying liar who tells lies, Anthony Stark,” Darcy said, leaning over and kissing Tony’s cheek. “So, this is what we’re going to do. You two are in love.” 

“Excuse me?” Bucky said, sounding a little more offended than strictly necessary, considering what they’d just done. Tony flinched. 

“We’re gonna spin the whole thing toward the heroic. Poor little rich boy and the decorated Special Forces veteran.” Darcy walked over to Bucky and without so much as a glance for permission, peeled up Bucky’s tank, showing off the washboard stomach and a whole slew of scars. Tony was desperately grateful they’d managed to clean up a little. “Yep, I can work with this, great. You’re very photogenic, that’s good.” 

“This woman is a menace,” Bucky whined, looking at Tony for support. Tony just shrugged semi-apologetically. He was used to Darcy’s iron rule. 

“Three months should do it,” she said. “We can always move you to Stark Mansion, if you actually _don’t_ get along; there’s plenty of room there. That’ll carry us over until the trial for Killian, and that’ll take the pressure off. Then Tony can fake an affair and you’ll just be another notch in his belt, as far as that goes. But in the meantime, we’ll spin up a lot of positive press about what a stand-up guy you are. Everyone except Ty will fold to the idea that Tony’s an idiot for breaking things off with you, and TMZ will put pressure on Ty to drop the story for the current line. Celebrity things don’t last, most of the time, and no one will expect it to. You might get a little cult-following for a while, but within six months, it’ll all be over. In the meanwhile, we keep you and your family safe. Oh, and I’ve already booked a spot with Cherry Wood studios, for the band. I know, the kickstarter and all, but if we make enough fuss with the band, that’ll also take some attention off Mr. Barnes.” 

“I don’t know why I have to be the idiot here,” Tony protested. 

“He’s got the better character reference,” Darcy said. “If you just dump him, that’ll make you look bad. And sorry to be blunt, but no one will believe that someone in your financial situation, Mr. Barnes, would break off things off with Tony for anything less than a betrayal.” 

“This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Bucky said, shaking his head. 

“No, it’s not,” Darcy said. She flicked a glance at Tony. “Ty released the nudes. I have copies if you want to see how bad it is, but… yeah, ok. Here.” She took a folder out of her bag and handed it to Bucky, who opened it, blanched, and closed it again. 

Tony didn’t want to see. He’d just seen Bucky’s dick not an hour ago, but that was with the man willing and participating. Looking at someone else’s stolen nude pictures… no thank you. God knew, there were enough of Tony out there; he rarely looked at another human being without knowing that person could see him undressed at any time. But he’d grown up with fame and publicity and the first time his nudes were leaked publicly, he’d actually been underage. And then there were those famous leaked pics of him doing cocaine off what had been Ty’s chest, except Ty’s face hadn’t been in the picture, so while Tony had gotten sent to rehab, Ty had gotten off Scot free. 

Darcy coughed, and stared pointedly at Bucky. “Mr. Barnes. You want to talk about consequences? We can do that. Let’s start with the fact that you will absolutely not be left alone if you’re not under our protection. Last week, it was just Ty. Now you’re a big damn hero and there will be reporters three feet deep around you at all times, whenever you’re in public, until you say something or do something wrong, which you _will_ because you are not trained for this.” She ticked off the points on her fingers, her eyes never leaving Bucky’s pale face. “Your service record will be leaked. Your arrest record will come out. Your wife’s suicide will be discussed on national television. We will do as much as we can to help you, obviously, but if you don’t work with us, there’s a limit to what we can do. I’m sorry.” 

“I can’t do this,” Bucky said. “I have work and…” 

“No, you don’t,” Darcy said. “You’ve been let go, I’m sorry. No one thought to inform your employers that you were hospitalized. They knew it, of course, but they’re using the attendance clause. We can fight that, later, if you want, but I wouldn’t bother. Look, we’re going to put you on a consultant’s salary for the time being; don’t protest, you’re currently involved in a media operation to preserve Tony’s reputation, we hire people for that all the time. Actors, usually, but we’re flexible. Having Stark Industries on your resume will improve your chances for a better job once we’re done here. And, of course, we’ll buy out your lease for the duration of your employment.” 

“You’re going to… pay me to be Stark’s _boyfriend_?” 

Tony flinched. There was that cancer-causing radioactive material tone of voice again. “No,” he said. He was done, that was it, case closed, fuck it. “No, this is not happening, Lewis. Think of something else.” 

“Tony?” Darcy stopped short. He’d actually startled her, by the lift in her voice and the concern in her eyes. For the first time ever, perhaps, she laid aside her professional expertise and gave her full attention to his feelings as a _person_. 

“If you think that I can just... _pretend_ to be in love with him for three months, go to functions, be seen in public and know that it’s all _a lie_ , then you have a much lower opinion of me as a human being with actual emotions than I’d like to believe,” Tony said. He couldn’t quite meet anyone’s gaze, staring at the floor. “And you!” He jabbed a finger in Bucky’s direction. “You don’t get to act like what happened in here not two hours ago _meant nothing_. It wasn’t nothing to me, and if you can do that and then turn around and say my name like I disgust you? Then you’re not the man I thought you were. No, that’s… Figure it out, Lewis, because this shitshow isn’t happening.”

 And then Tony did the one thing he didn’t want to do, but that absolutely had to be done. 

He walked away. 

* * *

 

There was a limit to the number of places Tony could go in his own damn penthouse that weren’t currently occupied by members of the Barnes/Maximoff contingent. (And why were they Maximoffs anyway, if their dad was Lehnsherr and their mom was Barnes? That didn’t make sense.) Tony shook it off and threw it aside as irrelevant, even as his genius brain started making up possible scenarios. 

He pulled out his phone and texted Christine Everhart; even though they hadn’t slept together for several years, he still had her number. She called him from time to time, usually to complain about her current lover, or to ask for his help getting admission to this or that social event. They’d ended on a down-note, but Christine wasn’t one to hold a grudge and she’d recognized that his influence was something she’d rather be on the good side of. 

The texts flew back and forth for a few minutes. Tony explained that Bucky had just come up from surgery and that Darcy hadn’t cleared the schedule before making arrangements, and if Christina wanted to, she could go grab a meal at Masa on his tab and he’d get back with her at a better time. Tony paced the huge loft that held his bedroom and personal living room and stared blankly out the window. Finally, he focused on the blue, glass-bottomed pool and decided he’d go for a swim.   

Tony dug around in his dresser and found an old pair of swim trunks. He usually just swam in the nude when he was alone, but he didn’t need Wanda going out onto the balcony, looking up, and seeing Tony in all his glory, so to speak. 

He was just easing into the cool water when a tiny person ran across the tiled flooring, right toward the water, focus locked on something on the far side of the pool. 

Tony didn’t think, he moved. He lunged out of the water and snatched Steve up, inches before he’d run straight into the water. 

“Woah, woah,” Tony said, wincing as the struggling kid bumped the flutter-valve. “Where’s the fire?” 

“I want to pet the kitty,” Steve pouted, still trying to twist out of Tony’s arms. 

Tony sighed and looked around. Sure enough, there was Loki, washing his face disdainfully on the far side of the pool. He wasn’t supposed to be outside. The decks were decidedly unsafe for cats, and all the housecleaning staff knew it, but there the damn cat was. Again. Loki had to be a fucking magician wizard cat or something. 

“That’s Loki,” Tony said. “And Loki is a _bad cat_ who knows he’s not supposed to be outside, so, here, why don’t we get him back in the house, okay?” He twisted into a squat and called for the cat. Normally, Loki reacted to such calls with a disdainful sniff, but this time Loki seemed to realize that Tony’s legs were soaking wet. That made Tony entirely too attractive to resist; Loki just had to come over and rub against him, absolutely coating his calves in damp cat fur. 

“He’s pretty,” Steve said, reaching down to stroke the gray Somali, who purred like a rusty chainsaw, slitting his large green eyes in satisfaction. 

“He’s a bad cat,” Tony repeated. “His brother, Thor, stays inside, where cats are _supposed_ to be.” 

Loki flicked his tail, dismissing Tony’s complaints. 

“Come on,” Tony said, beckoning to both boy and cat, herding them back into his bedroom. Thor, dozing, grumbled at the interruption. He was a darker, reddish cat with wide yellow eyes, and his favorite place to sleep was Tony’s pillow. Not that Thor would sleep on the pillow if Tony tried to _give_ it to him; he’d just take the one Tony was using, whichever one that happened to be. Tony had often woken up at night with a faceful of Thor. 

“So, Loki, Thor, this is our houseguest, Steve. Steve, these are the cats, Thor and Loki. Or sometimes, Mischief and Mayhem. They answer to either about the same, which is to say, like most cats, not at all.” Tony grabbed a towel from the bathroom and started wiping wet cat hair off his legs. 

“They’re pretty,” Steve declared. “We don’t have a cat. Daddy says we can’t because the apartment people won’t let us.” 

Thor, who knew a sucker when he saw one, promptly curled up in the boy’s lap. Loki, on the other hand, stuck a nose under Tony’s shorts, batted at his ankle, tried to attack the towel, and generally made a very Loki-like nuisance of himself. 

“Why do you have two kitties?” Steve asked as Loki decided the place he wanted to be Right Now was on Tony’s shoulder and not caring in the least bit about the fact that Tony a) wasn’t a tree b) wasn’t wearing clothes and c) had a fucking tube in his chest that was keeping him breathing. Tony twisted and caught the cat mid-bound and spun, dropping him on the bed. Loki yowled, disgusted, and then started grooming himself and pretending that everything had gone exactly according to plan. 

“Well, I didn’t, originally,” he said, sitting on the bed and petting Loki, who eventually forgave Tony’s lack of arboreal qualities and granted him a tolerant purr. “I had Thor, and my girlfriend, Pepper, had Loki. We lived together then, and the two of them were just kittens. When Pepper and I broke up, she took Loki with her. But he missed his brother so much that he managed to escape from Pepper’s apartment, crossed twenty-three blocks of the city, and showed up sitting in front of my door. Rather than risk that happening again, because _bad things_ happen to kitties who wander around alone in New York City, we decided that they could both live here. Pepper got a new kitten, Lady Sif, and she still comes over sometimes to visit with Loki and Thor.” 

He didn’t mention that the fight over who got to keep Thor and Loki had actually been worse than the fight about breaking up in the first place. It was only when Tony declared that Pepper should just _cut his heart out_ and be done with it that she’d thrown up her hands in disgust and relented. As it was, she came over at least once a week for a good petting session and always brought treats. Expensive, hand-selected treats. Treats that had made Loki turn his nose up at his dinner more than once, and Thor was getting downright chubby. 

“Here,” Tony said, grabbing the cat-fishing stick out from under the bed. “See if you can’t get this pudge-monster to run around a bit while I get dressed, okay?” 

It took Steve a few minutes to get a handle on the toy, to drag it so that Thor would chase the stuffed bird on the other end. Loki, of course, started batting at the butt end of the toy, and Steve was giggling and that was… nice. 

Tony yanked his jeans up over his swim shorts -- he hadn’t gotten far enough into the water to necessitate a change of underwear -- and then checked his flutter-valve in the mirror. Shit. He dabbed at the skin just under the bandages, Loki had knocked it askew and he was bleeding, just a bit, from the site. 

Wincing, Tony pulled off the surgical tape, straightened the valve, and then went hunting in his medicine cabinet for more tape, which was an epic failure on the part of his genius brain, because he should have done those things in a slightly different order. Trying to hold the valve in place while searching, one handed, though a veritable stash of vitamin supplements, anti-anxiety medication, pain killers that he never really needed but always managed to wheedle out of doctors anyway, antacids, bandages, burn cream, cough drops, several makeup compacts that belonged to Pepper that he noticed about once every six months and thought about returning to her and then promptly forgot again… 

“Shit,” he said. 

“Dad would be mad at himself for saying that word,” Steve commented, leaning in the door of the bathroom. The boy’s chest was rising with a slight wheezing sound. “And mad at anyone else for saying in front of me.” 

“Don’t worry,” Tony said, “your daddy’s already mad at me, so I don’t think a little swearing in front of little ears is going to add to it, all that much.” 

“I already know all the bad words,” Steve confided. “Sam says ‘em all the time.” 

“Does he? Well, shame on him,” Tony remarked. “Do you think, maybe, you could look under the sink and see if you could find the medical tape? It’s white and…” 

“I know what medical tape is,” Steve said, digging around. “They put it on me at the hospital all the time when I hafta have an IV.” He fished the roll out, glanced at Tony’s chest with a clear, clinical eye, and then tore off several strips of the tape, tagging them against the sink for easy use. Tony shivered, thinking how terrible it was that a seven-year-old kid should be so familiar with medical stuff. Of course, when Tony was seven, he had been an expert at nursing Howard through a hangover and pouring drinks, so it wasn’t like he was any kind of expert on normal childhoods. 

He taped his valve into position again, trying not to scratch at the exposed and glue-coated skin, which itched, then grabbed a button-up shirt and left if hanging open. The spot was too sore for anything tighter. If it wasn’t August, he’d have grabbed one of his old MIT sweatshirts, which were too big and soft and baggy and he loved every inch of them. Whatever Bruce said, they were very appealing shirts. Just, perhaps, not to anyone else but Tony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Darcy’s Rule of Media is taken directly from a Terry Goodkind novel, _Wizard’s First Rule_ , which is a fun book if you haven’t read it (the rest of the series gets a little creepy, as Goodkind has a fetish for leather-wearing dominatrices who are big on the non-consensual bondage and torture scene; if that’s your thing, they’re very good books, and if it’s not, you’ll put book 3 down and back away slowly and feel kinda ill. I’ll let you figure out where I was on that list) That being said, the rule is “People will believe a thing because they want it to be true, or because they’re afraid it IS true.” and works pretty well for media manipulation.


	11. The Matter at Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What do I do?” Because Darcy Lewis seemed to know.
> 
> “First, shower. I’ve got some clothes for you -- yeah, Happy texted me your sizes. You will feel better if you look better. It’s a thing, I promise. Then just go talk to the man. Leave your awkward belligerence at the door and be honest. Tell him what you’re scared about. He’s not a cretin. Well, unless he’s been drinking. If you smell alcohol, leave the conversation for later. A drunk Tony is an asshole Tony.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> NOTE: I’ve said before that this fic is kinda dark and triggery and we get into Tony’s past with Ty which is pretty bad. There are no detailed descriptions of the sort of trauma he goes through, but Darcy kinda gives Bucky an earful of exactly how stupid he is and why. If that sort of thing bothers you, or puts you in a bad place, STOP reading after she says “let’s catch you up to speed” and skip the next 6 paragraphs, pick up at “To say Tony’s got chronic trust issues” You won’t miss anything important, except to know that Ty was a very abusive asshole, which you probably already know.
> 
> PS - I know my posting schedule's been a bit erratic over the holidays and I think you guys actually got 2 posts in one week and then an extended break between those. That should be all done now (I have to wait to post this here until AFTER it's gone up on the Imagine Tony & Bucky tumblr site -- y'all really should follow that, there's a LOT of good fic there if WinterIron is your jam) that the holidays are over, we'll be back to posting once per week on Sunday.

The only reason why Bucky didn’t leap out of the hospital bed and chase Tony down was because the tie on his sweatpants was still undone from their earlier tryst and he didn’t particularly want his dick to pop out in front of this furious little woman he didn’t know, despite her having already seen it, close up and personal in a photograph.  
  
Or, at least, that’s what he told himself. Truth was, he felt more like he’d been punched in the stomach and then shot. The way Tony had curled in on himself, as if he was trying his best to become invisible, carved out a hole in Bucky chest and made him feel weird and hollow. 

“You are an unbelievable moron,” Darcy Lewis said. It was like she’d pulled the script right out of his head and started reading it. “Even if we’re only talking about the monetary value, do you not have the slightest clue how much you’re throwing away with both hands and a shovel? A consultant’s salary, plus housing for three to six months is over four times what you make in a year. Not to mention all your hospital bills, and I might add, there’s a quarter of a million dollars in hardware hanging off your damn shoulder. Putting all that aside, do you have any idea of the emotional real-estate we’re talking about here? Tony was willing to put his entire reputation on the line to make sure you and your family are safe and sound. I’ve known Tony for _eight years_ and I’ve never seen him willing to do that for _anyone_. 

“Throw money at a problem, sure,” she continued, pacing around the room, waving her hands around indignantly. “He does that all the time. Seriously, the two million that Ty wants? That’s chump change for Tony, who is, I might add, worth more than _twelve billion_. If Tiberius Stone wasn’t such a blight on humanity, Tony might have given him the cash just to shut him up. But instead, he got angry on your behalf; he _assaulted_ Ty on the street, in broad daylight.” 

She whirled to face him, stabbing her finger at him angrily. “Ty Stone. He assaulted _Ty Stone_ on the street. For you.” 

“Um.” Bucky wasn’t sure what to say to that, to any of that, really, so he grabbed the first question he could find balanced on the tip of his tongue and gave it voice. “What is it with this Ty Stone guy, anyway?” 

“You don’t know? What rock have you been buried under for the last decade?” 

Bucky embraced the little frisson of anger; its fire warmed the cold place in his chest, however temporarily. “Afghanistan first, and more recently, dealing with how goddamn _abandoned_ I have been by my country, my family, and my so-called friends, thank you very much.” 

“Shit.” Darcy lost a little of her belligerence at that. 

“That about sums it up,” Bucky said. “Do you want to explain, or do you want to keep yelling at me? Because I’ve been screamed at by experts, lady, and you don’t even come close.” 

“Yeah, let’s get you up to speed.” She wasn’t yelling anymore, but the intense look in her eyes and the way her lips flattened into a fine white line were somehow worse. Then she blew out a breath and paused, nodding to herself as she put her thoughts in order. 

“Under normal circumstances,” she started, “I would not discuss my boss’s -- or anyone’s -- sexual trauma with an almost complete stranger. That being said, most of this is online in one form or another, and the truly dedicated sleaze-bucket can glean the whole story without even having to dip into paid sites.” 

Darcy tapped her foot against the floor, then sighed. “You can get most of the terrible details if you’re really interested, in the books,” she said. “First there was the ‘official unendorsed’ Stark biography, written by none other than Ty Stone. It’s called _Stark Contrasts_ , and it sort of blew a hole in Tony’s life. Talked about his dad and his drug use and his alcoholism. To be fair, he _did_ have problems with all of those things, but the book, blew everything way out of proportion, and very carefully implied some other things that are absolutely _not_ true. 

“Ty and Tony hooked up for the first time when Tony was in grad school, seventeen years old. He’d already been in college for three years by that point, but he was about as emotionally mature as most seventeen-year-olds, and he was surrounded by a god-awful amount of temptation. I think he was a fully-functional drunk by the time he was sixteen. And then -- thanks largely to Ty -- he added cocaine and a lot of bad, not-entirely-consensual and certainly not safe sex to the mix.” 

Darcy chewed on the side of her finger, a gesture that made her look years younger. “Then there’s the _other_ book,” she said. “If you love your sanity or have any respect for Tony whatsoever, don’t read it. I made my way through it because I had to know what I was fighting. It gave me nightmares for _weeks_ afterward, and that was before Tony all but admitted that it’s almost entirely true.” She gagged, swallowed hard, and then straightened up again “It’s pretty much porn for people who like torture and rape. We’re not talking about consensual BDSM, though the book has some wink-and-nods in that direction, just enough to keep it from being entered as evidence. I’m talking about emotional manipulation, sleep-deprivation, beatings, starvation, forced three-ways. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. I could go on; there was one ‘party’--” 

“God, _stop_ ,” Bucky said, holding up a hand, feeling sick to his stomach even thinking about it. But apparently Darcy was on a roll, and she had absolutely no intention of doing anything other than beating Bucky over the head with the knowledge of just how fragile and easily-broken Tony’s trust was. 

“And then there was all the blackmail,” she went right on, not listening to him. “Over the years, Tony’s probably given Ty something close to five or six million in direct cash, and that’s not including all the gifts. When Tony _finally_ started taking an interest in saving his own life and got rid of Ty, things got worse for a long time before they were better. Ty sent both Justin Hammer and Aldrich Killian after Tony on various occasions. They started out as honeypots; Hammer didn’t last long, but Killian managed enough corporate espionage to ruin three quarters’ profits before we found him out. Of course, once we’d identified them as Ty’s cronies, they didn’t bother to be nice about things anymore. 

“To say that Tony’s got chronic trust issues is putting it mildly, and there’s absolutely no reason for him _not to_ have them. His father, Howard, was a monster, and the man who mostly raised Tony after Howard died betrayed him and organized an almost-successful coup on Stark Industries. There are exactly five people in the world that Tony trusts, and two of them are in this room. And you’re rapidly sliding off the list, pal.” 

Bucky cringed, wanting to pull the blankets over his head and pretend none of this was happening. He’d spent so much of the last decade feeling sorry for himself, cursing the world and fate, and trying and trying and failing and trying some more, it had almost ceased to occur to him that other people might have problems that were as bad, or even worse, than his own. He wasn’t young anymore, but he was relatively healthy. And he had his son. Steve was still alive and sometimes Bucky thought he might even be getting a little better, and most of the time, Steve was a happy kid. He had his niece and nephew, who he loved more than anything in the world except for Steve. He had Clint, despite the pain and guilt and sense of debt he had around his brother-in-law. 

Tony had… what? A secretary, a publicist, and a couple of friends? 

“I…” Bucky couldn’t even start. He didn’t even know where to start shoveling; he was neck-deep and drowning. 

“Yeah, _you_.” Darcy sniffed. She dug into her handbag and came out with a pack of tissues. She handed one to Bucky and used one herself. “Epic. Idiot.” 

“I’m not… comfortable with all the money Tony has,” Bucky mumbled and that sounded like a pathetic excuse even to his own ears. 

“Yeah, well, I’m not comfortable with all the fucking glorious muscles you have, either, but what am I gonna do about it? You are who you are,” Darcy snapped. “Tony’s not any less of a person just because he’s rich.” 

“Don’t tell me he puts on his pants one leg at a time,” Bucky said, staring at the wall. 

“Dunno, never seen him get dressed,” Darcy said. “But he doesn’t lack for problems, either. Look, even if you take his money, it’s not going to fix your entire life, is it?” 

All the money in the world couldn’t bring Sarah back to him. It couldn’t cure Steve; money could help make him comfortable, but there was no miracle cure and Bucky had still not entirely wrapped his head around the idea that he was probably going to outlive his son. No amount of cash or respectability was going to make Erik like him, or even stop the dick from trying to drive a wedge between him and Mags. 

Money wasn’t going to buy him friends; in further fact, Bucky suspected he might well end up with some crippling trust issues of his own. 

But it might cut back on the nightmares, some, the ones that featured Steve wearing a cardboard sign and coughing in the rain while his father begged for change on a street corner. That one was so vivid that Bucky was _certain_ that Steve had caught his spring cold from it. 

“I don’t like feelin’ like a whore,” he blurted, then covered his mouth. “Damn, sorry, I…” 

“No, I get it, I do,” Darcy said. “Do you know how I got this job? No, of course you don’t. It’s stupid and I… look, I sold him a pair of kittens. That’s what happened. I worked at an animal rescue site; not like the pound, but for people who need to rehome their pets for whatever reason, a no-kill site. We foster cats and kittens and get them vet-care and I… I came in right out of school with a mountain of debt and I made web-pages for the cats. Little custom things, like dating site profiles, you know. I could sell anyone on any cat. Didn’t matter what their problems were: litter box adverse, biters, traumatized, touch-shy, whatever. I could sell cats with three legs and cats with one eye and find homes for them all where they were happy and content. I was good at my job. Really good. And then Tony fucking Stark walks in with his high-society girlfriend-slash-personal assistant and all they wanted to do was make a _donation_. Because Pepper had seen one of my pages online somewhere. And I talked them into doubling the donation, _and_ adopting two kittens.” 

She laughed, soft and low and suddenly seemed a lot more human than she had a few minutes before. “A week later, I had a Stark Industries contract to sign and was making a six figure salary while trying to figure out how to turn stray-kitten Stark into someone with a forever home.” She wiped her eyes again. “I’m telling you now that I would do anything for that man. And… if you let him, I think you’ll feel the same way, in a few months. He’s a good man. You just need to give him a chance.” 

“Not sure _he’s_ willing to take a chance on _me_ anymore, now,” Bucky said. The way Tony had looked at him, gutted, and how much Bucky had _deserved_ that… 

“You might be surprised, cupcake,” she said. 

“What do I do?” Because Darcy Lewis seemed to know. 

“First, shower. I’ve got some clothes for you -- yeah, Happy texted me your sizes. You will feel better if you look better. It’s a thing, I promise. Then just go talk to the man. Leave your awkward belligerence at the door and be honest. Tell him what you’re scared about. He’s not a cretin. Well, unless he’s been drinking. If you smell alcohol, leave the conversation for later. A drunk Tony is an asshole Tony.” 

Showered, dressed in the clothes that Darcy had laid out for him (including a bunch of sticky notes that said things like “yes, wear the scarf” and “if you tuck this shirt in, I will end you”) and his hair tucked back in his usual man-bun that he wore whenever he didn’t have a cap on, Bucky had to admit he felt a little better. 

Not better enough to melt the chuck of ice that seemed to have taken up residence around his heart, or better enough stop feeling like he might puke. Or to get rid of enough of the headache to let him think straight. 

He checked himself in the mirror; Darcy had dressed him in an assortment of pale, natural colors, which was totally unlike anything he’d ever select for himself, with a rich blue patterned scarf, and Bucky had to admit, it looked good on him. He was used to wearing dark shades and easy-clean fabrics so that he could re-wear them on weeks that he couldn’t get to the laundry. 

He passed Wanda, who was fast asleep on the sofa, a textbook under her cheek, and it suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea where his son was. The bottom dropped out of Bucky’s world so fast and so hard that he could barely breathe. “Stevie?” 

There was no answer. 

He hadn’t gotten the tour of Tony’s penthouse, and the whole place was filled with mirrors, like a narcissist's wet dream. When he finally discovered the spiral stairs off to one side of the entertainment area, he all but sprinted up, his heart pounding and black spots swimming in front of his eyes from panic. The stairs emerged into a tiny sitting room, beyond which Tony’s bedroom took up the entire floor, the door standing open. Bucky skidded into the room, then grabbed at the door to stop himself, staring. 

Tony was on his back, stretched out like a Playgirl centerfold, his jeans low on his hips, shirt open, fast asleep. Laying against his side was Steve, also sleeping, his cheek against Tony’s ribs. An enormous red cat was draped over his legs. The cat opened its eyes, gave a couple of rough purrs, then rubbed its cheek against Steve’s slack hand. _My human, mine._  

Bucky panted; there was air all around him, but he couldn’t seem to draw any of it in, like dying of thirst in the ocean. He was staring at his son, who was calmly asleep, with no medication, no tossing and turning, no pain, just laying on a huge mattress, encapsulated between cat and man, looking delicate and beautiful and peaceful. And Bucky, with his big mouth and his fractured pride and his rotten self-esteem, could have _ruined_ this. Might _still_ , if he wasn’t careful. 

Tony came awake all at once; no stretching or yawning or sleepy noises. One minute he was conked out, and the next moment he was assessing Bucky through opened, searching eyes. 

“Sorry, I --” Bucky started and Tony’s eyes rounded, then narrowed, with a quick flick in Steve’s direction. Delicately, as if he’d had a lot of practice, Tony extracted himself from the bed without disturbing kid or kitty. Well, not entirely; a gray cat that Bucky hadn’t even seen looked offended as shit and started washing its paw while the fluffy tail flumped against the pillow. 

Tony buttoned his shirt like his arms hurt him, moving with a deep ache and slow deliberation. Bucky bit down on a pang of guilt. _Don’t be sorry, please._  

Tony let his expression say everything that needed to be said: hurt, rejection, anger, fear. He didn’t gesture or beckon, just walked into another room, one that Bucky had missed on his rapid search of the penthouse and when he entered, he felt a little like Alice in Wonderland after she’d drunk the potion that made her six inches tall. 

Tony’s office looked like someone had designed it with a theme of “benevolent dictator” in mind; the white, clean spaces of the rest of the penthouse had been shoved aside for tall, dark bookshelves, a huge desk and a Very Important Chair on the far side. From that chair, Tony could turn toward the window and look down at the New York City skyline, or turn to look down at the supplicants in the burgundy leather chairs on the opposite side of the desk, the sort with rich leather and copper studding, superficially elegant but set low, a not-so-subtle reminder of who, in this room, held all the power. 

Bucky declined a seat. 

“I see Lewis had her way with your wardrobe. Don’t fight it, trust me, you’ll just lose,” Tony said, and if it hadn’t been for the flat, dead look in his eyes, Bucky might have thought everything was okay. Instead, Tony looked… like he’d pulled on a mask from a dark box in the corners of his mind, the sort of mask you looked at but never, ever put on, never even tried. Bucky was vividly reminded of the few times he had tried to be his own father, to be Big Jim, and discovered that there was still no way he was ever fitting in those shoes. He was everything his dad would be disappointed in, and Bucky was grateful, for once, that his dad had died of a massive coronary years before Bucky had even gotten married, and wasn’t around to see the disaster Bucky had made of his life. 

The gray cat strolled into the office like it belonged there, jumped up on Tony’s desk and stared at Bucky with disdain, tail wrapping elegantly around its toes. Tony reached up, absently stroking the soft fur. 

Bucky trembled, like he was standing on the edge of a cliff and looking down. His stomach dipped and swayed and the ground seemed somehow unstable. He could back away, stumble and fall and skin his knees on the shifting rocks, but ultimately retreat to familiar ground. Or he could jump, reach out into the unknown and be claimed by the terror and exhilaration of the fall, and have some faith that he was diving into warm water. 

Fuck it. He took a breath, and jumped.

“I’m an asshole,” Bucky said.


	12. Showing One's Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well, technically, Bucky’s on a 24/7 work schedule for the next three months, at least, which is a lot of overtime. The newspapers don’t sleep, and anyone with a telephoto lens could be watching at any moment, so we have to be prepared. There’s a bonus in there for situational hardship, but it’s standard SAG wages,” Tony explained, stirring his glass and watching the swirl of sugar in the bottom. “He’s not a guild member, of course, but it’s just easier to calculate everyone in the same manner.” 
> 
> “A what?” Bucky asked. Tony had watched him painfully read through the contract, but apparently not much of it had stuck. Well, that was why he’d called the lawyer brother-in-law, Tony supposed. Not everyone was weaned on contract legalese. 
> 
> “Screen Actor’s Guild,” Tony said. “Preserving my reputation is an exercise in lying, and the best professional liars are actors.” 
> 
> Clint snorted. “No, they’re not.” 
> 
> “Lawyers, guns, and money,” Bucky quipped and Clint followed up with a surprisingly melodious singing voice, “won’t get me out of this.”

It was utterly and completely unfair of Lewis to send him this perfect picture of masculine beauty, dressed in the colors of early morning light and looking like a hipster angel. 

Tony sighed, shoved Loki’s butt out of his face, and got a mouthful of angry cat tail for his trouble. It was damned hard to look dignified with an over-enthusiastic cat on his desk. “Is it time for the awkward conversation, then?” 

Bucky scrubbed at the back of his neck, looking at Tony from under his thick lashes, and that was just fighting dirty, that’s what that was. “Hey,” Bucky said, “next time you’re plannin’ on pitchin’ me out of an airplane, a parachute might be nice. Not sayin’ I couldn’t’ve handled it better, but…” 

“Told Happy it was a word,” Tony muttered, then gestured to Bucky. “Nothing, don’t mind me, talking to myself. Go on.” 

“I suck at apologies, Tony,” Bucky said. “Every time I say _sorry_ these days, and believe me, I say it a lot, what I feel like I’m doin’ is sayin’ ‘excuse me that I exist and that I’m inconvenient that way.’ I begrudge and hate every single one of ‘em. Sorry comes out of my mouth coated with bile. I hate the taste of it.” 

Tony shrugged like he didn’t care. “You don’t have to apologize for existing.” 

“I… um,” and Bucky was blushing, hot, red and furious, spreading from under the scarf and staining his cheeks. “Shit. I… it wasn’t _nothing_. It was… um. I ain’t never been with a man before.” 

Tony blinked. That wasn’t anything he was expecting. “You’re a _virgin_? How is that even possible?” 

“Christ’s cup,” Bucky swore, ducking his head. “ _No_. I was married for twelve years. I mean… I… bisexual. It’s a thing. It’s the box I check at the doctor’s office, but it was… sort of theoretical until--“ 

“Until this afternoon,” Tony said. Wow. He hadn’t seen that one coming. Tony remembered his first time with Sunset Bain, who’d been the first girl he’d slept with, and remembering how weird and strange that had seemed to him. He’d been used to a man’s body and shape, and it had taken him a while to figure out how it all worked, all over again. Suddenly everything seemed a little bit clearer. Bucky hadn’t nudged him on the bed as a one-and-done, an experienced bathroom-quickie sort of guy. 

So much more of everything made sense. Tony couldn’t quite put himself in Bucky’s shoes; he’d been outed at twelve, so he had no real context for _that_ , but he understood better now Bucky’s sheer rage at the photographs and the reactions of co-workers and neighbors. 

Tony had _decades_ of experience and it still made his heart race when someone started flinging homophobic slurs around. It had to be especially hard for a man who’d had his first homosexual encounter at nearly forty and then was immediately outed on a national scale. Sweet Tesla, it was a wonder Bucky was even here, talking to Tony now. 

“It meant _something_ to me, I promise,” Bucky said. “But then your…” 

“Yeah, Lewis is a bit much sometimes. Taser-queen, too, so don’t ever get on her bad side, you wouldn’t like that.” 

Bucky ignored that and ploughed onward, as if he’d worked out his whole speech and was determined to get through it. Maybe he had. “I… I dunno, felt like what we’d just done was… _tawdry_ , somehow. Dirty. I… it’s fuckin’ _hard_ to admit things are, you know, what they are. And here’s this woman commenting on… I thought I was going to _die_ , right there on the spot.” 

Tony smiled, a bit rueful. “You have to understand. Darcy’s been, as the phrase goes, all up in my business, for several years now. I don’t think it ever occurred to her that you might be _shy_.” 

Bucky made a growling sound deep in his chest. Loki gave the man a completely pissed expression and fled from the room, his tail bristling. 

“I got a lot from Big Jim about bein’ a man,” Bucky said. “What that meant and what was expected of me, and when your publicist started talkin’ to us about pretending to be in a relationship, like I was your whore or something. I felt like I’d finally gone and dropped the one thing that kept me part of my dad’s life, the one thing he was proud of. That I was a man. I know, I know, it’s _stupid_ but... I ain’t gonna say sorry, Tony. I can’t. The words, they stick in me, an’ you deserve better--” 

“Ug, no,” Tony said. “No, and no, and _no_. Definitely not. I have been on the other side of some pretty terrible relationships, and people using me to get to my money. I would… believe me, I never want to be on the other side of that stick. I don’t even think I _could_ , and my opinion of myself couldn’t possibly get much worse.”

Bucky blushed even redder, and Tony started to worry that he might get a nosebleed, like one of those hyperactive anime characters that Bruce was so fond of. “So, um…. Maybe we could try it out?” 

Tony replayed the conversation in his head a few times -- he had a gift for memory that was more of a curse in the middle of the night when he couldn’t sleep for constantly replaying the less pleasant conversations in his life -- and it still wasn’t making sense. Like, they’d cut to commercial and left something out to make the time-slot. 

“Try what?”

“Darcy’s idea. We could…” 

“Pretend to be in love?” Tony sighed. 

“No, idiot,” Bucky snapped and Tony had to swallow a laugh, because he sounded so damn frustrated and it was actually sort of cute. “The _relationship._ Look at it as... on-the-job training, or something. Sounds like, whatever my pride wants to believe, I don’t have much choice but to let your people fix this mess. I don’t want anything to happen to Stevie, or the twins for that matter. So. We have three to six months of living in each other’s back pocket anyway. It’s a little more hard-core, reality show sort of dating than most people have, but…” 

“You want to go trial-by-fire on being boyfriends?” Tony said. Under his desk, he pinched his own arm, trying to see if he was, actually, asleep and dreaming. _Ow_. No, still here. 

Bucky shrugged and nodded and Tony tried to marshal all the reasons why this would be a terrible, awful idea, except there was one thought that stood out among all the rest: he _wanted_ this. And maybe in some other life, Tony had been cautious or prudent, but it hadn’t yet happened in _this_ life. In this life, Tony had never walked away from something he wanted just because it was a bad idea. 

“Okay. Sure. You got it,” Tony said. 

He was pretty sure this was going to star in his next unofficial biography as the all-time worst plan ever, but Bucky was leaning in his doorway looking like a Roman god, and Tony just… gave up. 

* * *

Tony had met dozens, perhaps hundreds, of lawyers in his lifetime and he had to say that Clint Barton didn’t look anything like any lawyer Tony had ever met. For one thing, he was wearing a purple and black tank top and had arms like a Mr. Universe contestant. Clint also wore a pair of discreet hearing aids and watched carefully whenever anyone was talking. He had blue eyes and a killer stare, with buzzed sandy blond hair and while Steve didn’t look very much like his father (though he _acted_ a lot like his dad, down to mimicking Bucky’s expressions and gestures with adorable accuracy), it was easy to see the Barton bloodline when comparing the boy to his uncle. 

“Hey, kid,” Clint said, ruffling Bucky’s hair so hard that it fell out of the bun, scattering it all over his face. 

“My brother-in-law, Clint,” Bucky said, slapping Clint’s hand away. “Clint, Tony.” 

“Pleasure,” Clint said, pumping Tony’s hand twice with professional smoothness. 

“How’s Nat?” Bucky asked, as they moved into Tony’s enormous front parlor. 

“Wants me to smack you in the head about eight times for worrying the shit out of us, firecracker,” Clint said. He turned a conspiratorial look on Tony. “Can you believe this asshole? I’ve known him since he was all of thirteen years old, went on doubles with him all through high school while he was dating my sister, and then he’s in the hospital for a week and doesn’t call, doesn’t text, I get nothing from him until yesterday when he asks me to represent him in a _legal agreement_? Seriously, you’d think I never dumped a bucket of ice-water on him and Sarah while they were playin’ doctor just under my window.” 

Bucky shuddered, rubbing his arms. “And he says I’m the asshole,” Bucky protested. “And you only doubled with us because of Barney.” 

“My older brother,” Clint explained. “He… was a little over-protective.” 

“That’s one way to put it,” Bucky muttered. 

“This sounds like a story,” Tony admitted. “Get you a drink? Tea, soda, water? Whiskey?” 

Clint made a show of checking his watch, then gave Tony a wide grin. “It’s five o’clock somewhere.” 

“Whiskey it is, how do you take it?” 

“What label?” 

Tony rattled off a quick list, and Clint jumped at the Bowmore. “Just in a glass, my man,” Clint said. “A religious experience shouldn’t be diluted.” Clint knocked back the whiskey, took half of it in one swallow and then inhaled, flailed around a little like a muppet and grinned. “Oh, this is fine. Thank you.” 

“My pleasure,” Tony said, shaking his head. Still a little too early for him (he was trying so hard to be good, especially since he had guests) so he poured himself an iced tea and dumped about eight spoonfuls of sugar into it. 

Clint finished off his drink and set the glass aside, digging into his briefcase for a pack of papers. “I have to say, Mr. Stark, these are some very generous terms.” 

“Well, technically, Bucky’s on a 24/7 work schedule for the next three months, at least, which is a lot of overtime. The newspapers don’t sleep, and anyone with a telephoto lens could be watching at any moment, so we have to be prepared. There’s a bonus in there for situational hardship, but it’s standard SAG wages,” Tony explained, stirring his glass and watching the swirl of sugar in the bottom. “He’s not a guild member, of course, but it’s just easier to calculate everyone in the same manner.” 

“A what?” Bucky asked. Tony had watched him painfully read through the contract, but apparently not much of it had stuck. Well, that was why he’d called the lawyer brother-in-law, Tony supposed. Not everyone was weaned on contract legalese. 

“Screen Actor’s Guild,” Tony said. “Preserving my reputation is an exercise in lying, and the best professional liars are actors.” 

Clint snorted. “No, they’re not.” 

“Lawyers, guns, and money,” Bucky quipped and Clint followed up with a surprisingly melodious singing voice, “won’t get me out of this.” 

Clint pulled out a pair of glasses and slid them onto his nose; Tony noticed that it made a great deal of difference to his air of competence. A suit jacket would make him downright formidable. “My suggestion, here, Buck,” he said, tracing down the document, “is this clause, Section VII, line 4 through 12. Rather than re-locating Steve after the contract is ended, I think you should push to keep him in the new school for the duration of the school year. It’s hard on kids, relocating. It’s a privately-run school, so where you end up living after the contract ends won’t be a hardship as far as attendance goes. But we might also want some wording in there for continual transport to and from, at least for this academic year.” 

Tony hadn’t even thought about that; he’d been kicked out of so many different boarding schools and academies, he wasn’t sure he’d finished a single school year in the same building as he’d started it, but he was also a genius and the classwork had been only of minimal importance, anyway. He did most of his learning on his own, through trial and error. Professor Xavier was a personal friend of Tony’s, and there were aid packages, but the tuition was still pretty high. Tony wasn’t going to push back on that change, though -- the tuition was the same whether Steve was there for three months or the full years, so the only real change was the additional transportation. 

“And here,” Clint said, “we can’t direct deposit, at least not right now.” 

“That’s the fastest, most secure --” 

“I don’t have a bank account, Tony,” Bucky admitted, scratching at his chin. 

Tony blinked. “Wha--?” Tony had dozens of personal accounts, not to mention expense accounts and investment accounts and credit cards. How did someone even function in the world without a bank account? 

“Look, banks charge all sorts of monthly fees, _especially_ if you actually don’t have enough money to pay the damn fees,” Bucky muttered, defensively. “And there’s all sorts of overdraft fees and… it ain’t worth the bother. An’ I don’t even get paid at work with a paycheck, I have a… a company debit card. They add funds to it. ‘Course there’s fees for that, too, whenever I use it, especially if I need cash.” 

“How do you… I don’t know, pay your bills without a checking account?” Tony asked. Not that Tony had ever written a check in his life that wasn’t a publicity stunt for some charity or other. 

“Money orders,” Bucky said. 

“Don’t they charge fees for that, too?” 

“Look at you, got almost as much sense as a real person,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes. 

Tony nodded, staring at the floor. He’d never been poor; not even faux poor like some of his trust-account friends back at school, whose parents had threatened to (and on a few occasions had done so) cut them off from time to time. He’d never done those food-stamp challenges or poverty tourism events. First off, most of the celebs who tried them failed miserably and publically, and secondly, it seemed beyond rude. 

Empathy wasn’t putting yourself in someone else’s shoes; it was about recognizing that their pain was real and legitimate. You didn’t have to understand, you didn’t have to feel it, or be able to relate. You just had to recognize pain when you saw it. Tony scoffed at himself. Like a poor marksman, he kept missing the target. 

“Anything else?” Tony asked, once Clint had worked through the rest of the document with Bucky, explaining and clarifying. “If not, I’ll get Hill on it, and she can have a fresh copy sent over.” 

“Oh, Maria?” Clint said, looking up. “I thought she was still at S.H.I.E.L.D..” 

“My benefits package is better than a government contractor,” Tony said, buffing his nails on his shirt. Tony noticed Clint’s glass was empty. “You want a refill on this?” 

“I’m a full partner, Stark; don’t think you can get me to jump ship,” Clint said, wagging his finger, “not with that kind of bribe. But yes, please.” 

Tony moved over to the bar, but still caught Bucky’s low, worried voice. “Do you think I should sign?” 

“Ah, firecracker, I know. It tastes like shit in your mouth,” Clint said. Tony peeked at them in the reflection over the bar. “But, yes. Yes, you should. It’s an opportunity, the kind most people don’t see in a _lifetime_. Even one year in Xavier’s school can mean a huge opportunity for Steve. And we’re talking about enough salary here for you to go back to school and finish your bachelor’s, Buck. You really should do this.” 

They weren’t exactly being subtle, but Tony got the feeling that it would be better to pretend he wasn’t listening, and so he poured himself a drink as well, squelching a nasty spurt of guilt. Fuck it. 

“Okay,” Bucky said, his jaw tightening like he was steeling himself to put his hand in a fire. “Okay.” 

“Nat and I have your back,” Clint said, “whatever happens. You know that, right?” 

Bucky leaned against his brother-in-law and Clint wrapped an arm around his shoulders. “I know.” 

Tony brought back drinks and handed one off to Clint, knocking his back and feeling the burn. “Tell me, why do you call Bucky ‘firecracker’?” 

Bucky blushed, brilliant red, hiding a sudden and sly smile behind his hand that lit up his whole face. “That was _years_ ago,” he protested. “Not my fault, totally not.” 

Clint flicked a hand in Bucky’s direction. “He burned my grandmother’s gazebo down.” 

Over Bucky’s protests, shoves, and eventual clocking Clint over the head with one of the couch cushions, Clint told the story, which was long and involved and ended with a much younger Bucky, Clint, and Sarah diving behind the picnic table for cover as a stray spark ended up in their bag of illegal fireworks that eventually burned the backyard garden structure to the ground. 

“Honestly,” Clint said, “I’m surprised he ended up a sniper. I would have thought the army could have made use of his demolitions expertise.” 

“Asshole,” Bucky said, shoving his brother-in-law again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bucky's rant about bank accounts is 100% legit. Likewise, some low-paying jobs do the debit card thing, which is a real hardship for people who need cash on a regular basis.
> 
> If you don't have a car (Bucky doesn't) then you have to get your groceries from the closest place, which often means the prices are higher. If you don't have a bank account, it's hard to get into a good apartment, even if you could afford it. Banks will charge fees to cash checks, if you don't have an account there, and some won't at all. Check-cashing services exist, but their fees are even higher. 
> 
> Many places (including most places that rent out) do not take cash for bills, so if you don't have a bank account (or you've ever bounced a check with them before) you have to get money orders, which -- depending on where you get it, and again, on the distance between your house and the nearest money order service -- cost anywhere from 99cents to $5 each. (there may not even be any more of the 99 cent money order places anymore).
> 
> there's a terrible cost just to be poor; everything costs more, it's vastly inconvenient, and nobody gives you slack. deposits on everything. after I bounced a check once, I had to pay $400 IN DEPOSITS just to get my lights turned back on, plus the back due electric bill. Plus a fee for bouncing a check with THEM, plus a fee from my bank for bouncing a check. when you're running off 2 minimum wage full time jobs (and lucky to have full time) that sort of fee is like 40% of your income for that month. Guess who's not eating?
> 
> If I take this stuff really personally, or I sound really angry, it's because I FUCKING AM. It's been years (decades, really. my husband landed a good job back in 2001, and things have been a LOT better since then) since I've been in poverty and I still get really scared about money. It might also be why this story went off the fucking rails from what the original anon requested, because I have a lot of goddamn feelz about being poor. It's not romantic, it's not fun, it's not fair... 
> 
> These days, I'm well off. Not 100%, but I don't owe. The bills get paid on time. My child gets to do things like go to summer camp. But I also remember this so well that I can't turn my back on where I came from. I do volunteer work and charity work with both a food pantry and a domestic violence shelter. I try to keep at least one "homeless pack" in my car at all times (these usually include things like $10 gift cards to Starbucks or Target, gloves, chapstick, a spoon, socks, pudding, bottle of water, vienna sausages, a book, a flashlight, and a tote bag to carry everything in etc. There are sources online to tell you what stuff is best to put in those kinds of boxes. PLEASE be aware that homeless people may not have access to thinks like running water, they may have poor dental care and beef jerky is VERY HARD on broken teeth.)


	13. All Hands and the Cook

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We’ve talked about fighting, Stevie,” Bucky said, though privately, he couldn’t blame Steve. He’d met Harry Osborn before; that kid was a freaking goblin. Mean and cruel and prone to excessive teasing, especially when he supposedly liked someone, Harry had gotten away with some incredibly terrible behavior under the guise of boys-will-be-boys. 
> 
> “He called Mary-Jane the n-word, Daddy,” Steve protested, the tears a little less hurt and a little more indignant now, “an’ pushed Peter down and made him cry. He’s a bully!”
> 
> “Yes, he is,” Bucky agreed. “But that doesn’t mean that hitting him was the right thing to do. You could have gotten your cousin, or told another adult.”
> 
> Steve crossed his arms and looked stubborn. “Like you did when those men were going to hurt Mr. Tony?”
> 
> “Kid comes by it honestly, Buck,” Tony said, not quite laughing. Bucky inhaled sharply.

“Oh, lord,” Christine Everhart said, not looking away as Bucky squeaked in surprise and held the shirt he was getting ready to put on in front of his legs. He wasn’t totally naked behind it, and that was a good thing, but _really_. “He’s shy.” 

Tony’s photographer friend leaned in the door, watching him with appraising eyes. Not as if she found him attractive, but like she was planning on selling him to the highest bidder and was wondering just how much she could get for him. 

“Sorry,” Tony mouthed at him, looping his arm around Christine’s waist. “Let the man get dressed. In the meanwhile, did I tell you I had a bottle of that Italian wine you’re so unreasonably fond of? And tell me, how’s your sister? She never did…” Still talking, Tony deftly moved Christine out of Bucky’s line of vision. 

Bucky scrambled into the rest of his clothes: jeans, tank, and button down shirt left open. He was still blushing furiously and mortified that this was the case. He scrubbed both hands over his face, then through his hair, and ended the gesture with his left hand cupped against the back of his neck, feeling the heat of his skin. The new arm Tony had given him still amazed him -- the way he could actually feel the texture of his own hair, the subtle changes in heat and cold. His handwriting would never be particularly good -- he was left-handed in a mainly right-handed world, after all, and his penmanship would never have been considering pretty even before the bombing -- but he could write and have it be readable, and his signature looked like it might actually be a name. 

Which was good, because Bucky didn’t think he’d signed his name so many times before in his entire life combined. The Stark Industries employment paperwork, bank paperwork, Steve’s school paperwork, photography releases, contract addendums, legal forms… Bucky’d gone to bed the night before with an ache in his shoulder and dreamed of being chased around by legal teams waving more forms at him. He’d woken up, breathless, and it had taken him a while to realize where he was. 

Tony’s penthouse was ridiculously enormous; four bedrooms in addition to the master on the second floor, two swimming pools (one was for Tony’s personal use, on the deck off the master bedroom, and the other was a full Olympic-sized pool on the main “downstairs” deck), a spa/sauna room with a Jacuzzi, a personal movie theater, fully stocked bar, and a formal dining room that seated eighteen. (Thank god Tony preferred smoothies for breakfast and usually drank them standing in the kitchen, with Bucky and the kids at the island bar, because Bucky wasn’t sure what sort of appetite he would have had in that sterile dining area.) And that wasn’t even including the lab-slash-workshop that took up almost two and a half times the space of Bucky’s entire apartment. 

That first night, installed in the bedroom directly under the master, which had its own sitting room and deck, Bucky had waited nervously in the dark, for Tony to come visit. And it wasn’t that he didn’t _like_ Tony, because he did, and it wasn’t that he didn’t find Tony attractive, because even he couldn’t lie that convincingly to himself. But after what had happened in the ‘shop, and the piles of paperwork to pretend to be Tony’s boyfriend for a few months, not to mention Bucky opening his mouth and falling in -- what the hell was he thinking, trial relationship? With Tony Stark? 

Tony could have put him in the same guest area as the twins and his son, but hadn’t. Which made it seem all the more likely that Tony had been planning a late night seduction, and Bucky couldn’t for the life of him work out how he _should_ feel about that, never mind what he actually _did_ feel. Bucky had lain in that huge, excessively comfortable bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting with mixed dread and anticipation, but Tony had never showed up. Around four in the morning, Bucky had finally conked out. 

It was, he decided, a good thing he’d lost his job, because he wasn’t given enough time as it was. After Clint’s visit, he’d signed the paperwork, and then all the real work had started. Visits to Steve’s school, getting the bank accounts set up, getting registered with Stark Industries security (“make sure you wear your badge in all the public areas of the Tower”), the tour of that building and the areas of it where he was allowed (Tony’s office, the public areas, and the full-scale workshop) which had included an introduction to Tony’s friend Bruce, and then he’d been handed over to Chel, a dark-skinned, exceptionally beautiful woman who was the apprentice to Tony’s stylist, and who had since shown up daily with packages of clothing and a rather exasperated attitude about how Bucky did not know how to stand, walk, or breathe in ways that would do justice to the wardrobe she was creating for him. 

Finally, he got his blush under control and went back into the main entertainment lounge. Christine was leaning against the bar, sipping a glass of golden wine and flirting with Tony, her hand on the sleeve of his expensive suit.

Christine considered him, then shrugged. “The suit was nice,” she said, referring to the earlier sets of photos, “but casual is a good look, too. I have to admit, Tony, he’s very pretty. I can’t believe you dug him up in Brooklyn, of all places.” 

Tony’s smile was apparently sincere, all wide angles and sparkling teeth, but somehow it didn’t seem to Bucky like it quite reached his eyes. “What can I say, Christine? I know quality when I see it,” Tony remarked, picking a non-existent piece of lint off his sleeve. 

How Christine might have responded to that, Bucky didn’t know, as the door opened and Wanda came in, Steve holding her hand with one of his. His other hand held an ice-pack to the side of his face. 

“Daddy,” Steve said, suddenly starting to cry. He ran for Bucky, who opened his arms and snatched up his son. 

“What happened?” He peeked under the ice pack, where Steve’s eye was already swollen and a little red. 

“He got in a fight while we were at the park,” Wanda said. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Bucky, I just looked down at my phone for five seconds…” 

“Steve?” Bucky looked down at his son, trying to ignore the way Christine had reached for her camera with glee, circling them and snapping photos. 

“Harry Osborn called Mary-Jane a bad name, and then, when Peter told him that was mean, he pushed Peter onto the sidewalk. Peter was cryin’, Daddy. I had to do somefin.” 

“We’ve talked about fighting, Stevie,” Bucky said, though privately, he couldn’t blame Steve. He’d met Harry Osborn before; that kid was a freaking goblin. Mean and cruel and prone to excessive teasing, especially when he supposedly liked someone, Harry had gotten away with some incredibly terrible behavior under the guise of boys-will-be-boys. 

“He called Mary-Jane the n-word, Daddy,” Steve protested, the tears a little less hurt and a little more indignant now, “an’ pushed Peter down and made him cry. He’s a bully!” 

“Yes, he is,” Bucky agreed. “But that doesn’t mean that hitting him was the right thing to do. You could have gotten your cousin, or told another adult.” 

Steve crossed his arms and looked stubborn. “Like you did when those men were going to hurt Mr. Tony?” 

“Kid comes by it honestly, Buck,” Tony said, not quite laughing. Bucky inhaled sharply. 

“I’ll thank you not to interfere with my parenting, if you don’t mind,” Bucky said. “Stevie, honey… you’re right, I did do that. But I also _got shot_ doing it. I just want you to be safe, okay kid? Harry Osborn is a lot bigger than you are.” 

“He’s bigger than Mary-Jane is, too,” Steve pointed out. 

“You’re right,” Bucky admitted. “But fighting should be the last resort, not the first one. Okay? Please, for me, do you think maybe you could try a different solution next time?” 

“Okay,” Steve said, which Bucky figured would last for about ten minutes, then squirmed to be let down. Wanda apologized again, then took Steve off to the guest rooms to get cleaned up. 

“Next time?” Christine asked, her camera still clicking. 

Bucky sighed. “There’s always a next time,” he said. 

Tony, the bastard, at least waited until Steve was out of earshot to laugh in earnest. “You’ve got your hands full with that one, hero,” he said. 

Bucky squirmed inwardly. It wasn’t that he didn’t agree with Steve. Honestly, Harry Osborn was a menace and his father was just as bad. Both of them could use a good smack. But it seemed wrong to encourage the kid to fight, especially, he thought with a wince, as frail as Steve was. 

“All right, all right,” Christine said. “Take the shirt off and go lean against that pillar. I want to get some good shots of the arm, and a little beefcake goes a long way.” 

Bucky rolled his eyes, but did what she said, found himself in the sun, holding the button-down with two fingers over his shoulder while Christine prodded and positioned him like he was a floor model. 

* * *

You’d think, even in a home the size of Tony’s, it would be hard for the man to avoid him. 

Which wasn’t really what Tony was doing, but after a few days, it sort of felt like that. It’s not that Tony wasn’t around, because he was, even with having to duck into SI on a daily basis (Tony did not, apparently, have anything like a regular schedule, since he went in to SI on Saturday and twice on Sunday, but also missed Wednesday to go to the food pantry and slept in most mornings until at least eleven.) Even so, he spent a lot of time in the penthouse. 

Tony discovered that Steve didn’t know how to swim (lessons were expensive, and the old arm was water resistant -- meaning Bucky could shower -- but was not submersible, so Bucky couldn’t have taught Steve himself, even if he could afford passes to the pool) and took it on himself to teach Steve. 

Bucky had mostly laid on one of the deck chairs, soaked up sun, and watched. Bucky had gotten in the water once and discovered that the new arm was a lot lighter and that he actually could swim, if he had to. It would still be work, however, and not quite so much fun. That said, he made one hell of a rooster tail when he swiped the limb over the surface of the water and absolutely doused Tony as revenge for encouraging Steve to practice kicking in his direction. 

Tony had delivery brought in every night; Bucky hadn’t eaten anything at all out of a can or a crinkly package in several days. It was blissful. Steve, on the other hand, hadn’t exactly been pleased, but he was a picky eater, and luckily, Bucky discovered that his son had a weakness for lo-mein noodles that Tony was happy to indulge. 

So, yeah, it wasn’t like Tony was _absent_. After the first couple of days, Bucky stopped feeling like Tony was going to pounce on him at any second and started wondering if he actually _would_. Bucky felt oddly rejected. The closest they’d come to acting like they were in a relationship was the one night that Tony had queued up _Brother Bear_ in the movie room for Steve, and then fallen asleep. In his sleep, he’d leaned against Bucky’s arm, and gradually ended up snuggled up with his head against Bucky’s thigh. 

Bucky sighed, looking at himself in the mirror. Clothes might not make the man, but the new threads did make him look _good_ , he had to admit it. He dragged his hair back into a sloppy bun and used the plastic jar of hair wax to give his bangs some shape, then steeled himself. Time for some desperate measures. 

Tony was in his workshop, hunched over his computer, looking like a futuristic mad scientist -- he had a lab coat, even if he wasn’t actually wearing it. The music pounded low and fierce, heavy metal with throbbing bass and intense drums and a lot of screaming lyrics. 

“Hey,” Bucky said, leaning in the doorway. 

Tony startled, then moved his mouse. The music died and he turned in his chair. “Hey, yourself,” he said. As if he couldn’t help it, Tony did a slow rake, starting at Bucky’s feet and traveling the length of his body, eyes appreciative. 

That was a relief, at least. He was starting to think he’d imagined -- or lost -- Tony’s interest. Somehow, that was a worse thought than being Tony’s contracted love-slave. Well, love-indentured servant. Something like that. 

“Something I can do for you?” Tony asked when his eyes finally landed on Bucky’s face. 

_Yes. You can kiss me drunk and fuck me stupid._ Bucky shook the thought away before it could escape, then attempted a soft smile. “Um. Kinda thought this whole… “ He chewed his bottom lip, trying to figure out how to say it any other way. This was why he didn’t date; he was so fucking bad at it. “We’re… like supposed to be dating, right?” 

Tony spread his hands. “That’s the cover story, yes.” Tony’s gaze darted to Bucky’s face, then he glanced at his computer, if there was something more compelling there, and Bucky’s stomach tied itself in a gordian knot of nerves. 

“So… shouldn’t we… erm. Date?” 

“Sure,” Tony said. “I’ll have Pepper get you a copy of my social engagements. A couple of those, and we’ll be set for publicity photos, plus the article Christine’s doing. It’ll be fine, don’t --” 

“That’s not what I mean,” Bucky said, pushing through it, because if he was going to be rejected, he was going to goddamn well earn it. He tipped his chin up and took a few steps closer, coming to a halt just at the edge of Tony’s workstation. “You didn’t believe me, did you?” 

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do,” Tony said, slow and deliberate. “You know that, right?” 

“I know.” There was no stopping him. He took Tony’s hands and bent down, capturing Tony’s mouth with his, stopping the words that were meaningless protest. He tasted Tony’s lip, felt the rough edge of his beard and mustache against his skin. He reached a hand up and cupped the side of Tony’s face, his thumb brushing over Tony’s jaw. “What if I do want to?” 

“Uhhh…” Tony pulled back, his eyes wide and soft. “I admit, it hadn’t been part of recent calculations. You…” 

“I’m an idiot,” Bucky said, his thumb stroking down Tony’s jaw and over his lower lip, red and swollen from kissing. 

“Nonsense,” Tony said, sharply. “There are perfect geniuses out there who don’t want to date me. Bruce, for instance. You’re hardly unique in that…” 

“Do I have to kiss you until you can’t stand up before you’ll believe me?” 

Tony gaped at him. “Um… no? But I wouldn’t mind if you tried it anyway?” 

Bucky’s blood heated. That was, finally, a clear invitation. And a challenge. He hoped it wasn’t desperately obvious that he had almost no idea what he was doing and was criminally out of practice. Hell with it. Bucky threw the life-preserver overboard and jumped. He put his knee between Tony’s legs, resting it on the chair, and tipped him back, slanting his mouth to take possession. “I want to,” he said, just before his lips came down on Tony’s. 

No gentle kiss, this, no tender exploration. He took control of Tony’s mouth, branding him, tasting him, devouring him. Tony’s hands came up and grabbed Bucky’s shoulders, pulling them closer. Bucky kissed Tony hungrily, like a starving man, and rumbled with delight as Tony opened under him, drawing him in. Tony’s hands were everywhere, touching, stroking down Bucky’s back, along his waist, up under his shirt to brush feather-light against his belly. Bucky sucked air, his skin shivering and his muscles jumping wherever Tony’s fingers left trails of sensation.

The chair rolled backward under his weight until they were up against the desk and Bucky leaned in further, tipping the chair all the way back, practically climbing into Tony’s lap, wanting to feel the warmth of the man’s body against his, wanting, wanting… 

Bucky pulled back a little, so hard, so filled with desire, that he needed to breathe. He rested his forehead against Tony’s, panting. Tony struggled to sit up a little, then pressed his mouth to Bucky’s jaw, his throat, and came back to his mouth, stealing a quick kiss. And then another, coaxing and enticing until Bucky groaned in response. He crushed his mouth to Tony’s with raw need that suddenly raged out of control. He searched Tony with his tongue, a primitive sound coming up from his throat as he tugged at Tony’s clothes with frantic hands, eager to get his fingers against that skin. 

Tony arched into Bucky’s touch, so graceless and effortless that Bucky was undone. “Shit, shit,” he murmured, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Think you kissed _me_ senseless, there, instead.” He laughed, weakly, and was relieved when Tony chuckled. 

“I’m hardly unaffected,” Tony said, panting and falling back against his chair with a soft whump. 

“So,” Bucky said, pushing himself out of the chair and half-sitting on Tony’s desk. “Date?” 

Tony rolled his tongue around in his mouth a moment, then looked up at Bucky from under his thick lashes. “Depends. Which answer will get me more of those kisses?”


	14. Near at Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The other thing Tony learned was that Bucky had impossibly long legs and that he sprawled when he sat down, legs carelessly extended under the table. When Tony had kicked him under the table the first time, Tony had apologized and drawn his feet back. Usually playing footsie under the table wasn’t a thing for Tony; at his very tallest (with the inserts in his shoes) was about 5’7”, so there was ample space for Tony’s legs and just about anyone else’s. Bucky, however, had stretched out just a little further, hooked the toe of his shoe around the back of Tony’s ankle and dragged his foot forward a few inches, then pressed his calf against Tony’s.
> 
> That little point of contact, unseen and secret and affectionate, was doing things to Tony. 
> 
> The only word that Tony could find to describe his mental situation was captivated. Or maybe smitten.

With Lewis’s advice in mind (“Don’t overwhelm the man with big gestures”) Tony had asked, impulsively, what Bucky wanted to do for a date. After they’d stopped making out on his workstation like horny teenagers. Which had involved Tony having to adjust his slacks a few times, because… yeah. 

Despite not liking the phrase, Tony had to admit, Lewis was right. Tony _was_ slumming it. He’d never dated so far outside of his own social circles. Not that most of his best people didn’t come from less than extravagant backgrounds. Lewis herself had worked at a pet shelter, and Pepper had been the executive assistant for a CEO cretin who’d been sexually harassing her. Of course, Ty Stone was a paparazzi and gossip-monger, with a side-order of high-end blackmailer, so obviously people from all walks of life had an equal opportunity to be assholes. 

But mostly, Tony had _dated_ in his social circle, or close to it. Business moguls and the daughters of industry barons, actors and politicians’ sons. A few models. The lead singer of a Top 40 band. And the people, like Ty, who hung on the edge of that crowd. People whose idea of a spectacular date included jetting to Paris or walking the red carpet or blowing a hundred grand in a casino, chasing Lady Luck. 

Bucky had turned adorably shy and asked if they might go to dinner and catch a show on Broadway and had apologized as if the idea was too extravagant, too expensive. 

Tony sent off a quick text to Pepper, asking what shows SI currently had tickets for -- they kept a small bank of seats on reserve at most of the major theaters for the purposes of wining and dining important vendors and partners, or as rewards for enterprising employees -- and discovered that Bucky had never actually been to a live Broadway performance in his life, which just seemed a shame. Concerts, yeah -- and Tony teased him into admitting that he’d been in a band himself, back in high school, though obviously losing an arm made playing guitar a little difficult -- and a few grade-school plays where Steve had played second Octopus, but not one of the full-overboard high theatrics spectacles, like _Cats_ or _Hamilton_.   

“ _Wicked_ , Cirque du Soleil, or _Hamilton_?” Tony asked, as Pepper returned his text. “Oh, and seats at Balthazar’s for dinner, excellent.” 

Bucky blinked. “How did you do that?” 

Tony waggled his phone. “I have a personal assistant for a reason. And that reason is to make my life easier and save more time for sciencing. Or, you know, partying. Same thing, really. Just I try to science with less booze. It’s safer.” 

“Hmm,” Bucky answered, then leaned over and kissed Tony’s cheek. “Thanks. What time should I be ready?” 

Tony checked the itinerary Pepper had updated for him as soon as they were done texting. “Dinner’s at 6, so, 5:30?” 

“Sounds great,” Bucky said. 

“I don’t get another kiss?” Tony asked, plaintive. 

“After the date, Tony,” Bucky teased. “Wouldn’t want you to think I’m easy, would I?” 

While Tony tried to pick his way through that minefield, Bucky left the lab, the traces of his laughter hanging in the air. 

* * *

Tony walked into the living room and Bucky stood up from where he was lounged against the couch. For someone who’d never owned a suit before -- his dress uniform did not count, Bucky had protested -- he wore it well. James Bond in training. 

Bucky also apparently had two entirely different personalities. There was the angry-sullen Bucky that he’d given to Christine for the photo shoot, expressions that made it look like he was considering the shortest route to cutting your heart out, and then there was this one. The date-Bucky, which Tony had nearly forgotten in the last, heart-rending, weeks. The one with the wide, delighted, set-the-room-on-fire smile and dancing blue eyes and quick, loose-limbed gestures. The one who’d kissed Tony stupid and then admitted to being completely overwhelmed. 

And damn, he looked fine in that suit. Tony wanted nothing more than to take Bucky out and show him off, then bring him home and peel him _out_ of that suit. Slowly. With great attention to detail. 

 _Pump the brakes, Stark_ , he told himself. 

“Looking good, Mr. Stark,” Wanda said. She and Steve were playing a cut-throat game of Uno at the coffee table, both of them playing two separate hands like they were professional card-sharks. She was wearing pyjama pants with kittens on them and the new Vision tee, a gold diamond with a pair of cybernetic blue eyes just underneath; the album name they were going with was for the title track, “Didn’t See That Coming.” J and Pietro had started cutting some of the initial tracks yesterday. 

Tony had, of course, grown up wearing suits and therefore carried himself much like he did any other day, with calm assurance. He gave Wanda a quick grin. “You’re the absolute height of fashion, yourself, there, kid.” 

Wanda held up one hand, palm out, to shield Steve from the middle finger she flicked at Tony. Tony cackled, delighted. Wanda, he liked. She was unflappable, affectionate, and absolutely and brutally honest. Bucky had called her his Jiminy Cricket once. Even if Tony hadn’t liked her on his own, getting on Wanda’s good side was absolutely essential to keeping Bucky happy. Wanda made it easy to like her, though. 

Wanda played a Skip, Reverse, Skip, Skip, and called Uno, then said, “Hey, the band wants to know if they can come over after rehearsal and chill. Is that okay?” 

“Yes,” Tony said, “but no drinking if you’re going in the hot-tub or the pool, okay?” 

Wanda rolled her eyes at him. “I’m not an idiot.” 

Tony laughed. “Yeah, well, sometimes I am, so…” 

“Steve,” Bucky said, waiting until his son turned all the way around, “you be good for your cousin, yeah? And pretend to eat a vegetable with dinner. Just humor me, okay?” 

Steve pouted as if the idea of eating something that wasn’t chicken nuggets or hot dogs was the worst punishment ever. “Okay.” He got up and hugged his father, rumpling Bucky’s blue shirt. “Are you and Mr. Tony going on a date?” 

“That’s the plan,” Bucky said. He scooped the kid up and kissed his cheek noisily. Steve made a disgusted face and wiped his face off with his sleeve. “God, you weigh a ton, kid. You’re gonna be all grown up before I know it.” 

“Yeah?” Steve perked up. “When that happens, can I have your bike?”

“No, you may not,” Bucky said. “If you’re really good, though, I might let you tie your shoes all by yourself.” 

“Goodie.” The seven-year-old’s sarcasm was point-on. “Can I brush my own teeth, too?” 

“Don’t get too wild and crazy,” Bucky cautioned. He put Steve back on the floor and the boy ran off to finish the card game, crowing with triumph as he played two back-to-back Draw Fours. Wanda groaned and filled her hand with cards. 

Tony offered his arm, a strange pain in his chest as he watched Bucky interact with his son. “Shall we go? Pepper will murder me if we miss our reservations.” 

“Has she, ever, actually murdered anyone?” Bucky wondered aloud. 

“That’s classified,” Tony said, deadpan. Bucky laughed, throwing his head back and his bangs fell into his face. Tony allowed himself the tiniest bit of hope that maybe, this time, the date wouldn’t end in complete disaster.

* * *

  

Tony had literally seen life and death decisions made with less deliberation than Bucky was exhibiting, choosing between the lamb rack and the coq au vin. Tony put his own menu aside to watch Bucky agonize, not being able to keep from smiling. He was reminding himself not to overwhelm the poor guy; he pinched off his first suggestion, which was to just get both. His second suggestion was that he get one, let Tony get the other, and they could share. 

His next several impulses were worse, and continued to nag at him; Bucky made him want to spend money, not to impress, but because Bucky was so delighted and amazed by stuff Tony was so used to that it was both painful and intensely _fun_. For just a moment, Tony held the patronizing thought that _this_ was why people had children -- to watch someone else experience a thing for the first time in some way that brought the joy back. 

Tony started his little mental file; he always had one these days, ever since he’d totally fucked up with Pepper, forgetting her birthday and then bringing her strawberries (which she was allergic to, because damn it, he was a genius, but he could only remember strawberries, and not _why_ they were connected). He’d learned his lesson, finally. If he paid attention, made the little details as important as math and science and engineering… that made a difference. 

Or, so the theory went. Since he and Pepper had split, he hadn’t actually put the theory into practice. _Consider this a field test_ , he told himself. From just dinner, he’d learned Bucky preferred beer to wine, and beach-drinks to beer, preferably with frozen fruit and a rim of sugar. ( _Note to self: dig out the blender_ ) Also, that he thought calling french fries “pomme frites” was pretentious as hell, and that he would absolutely not eat the last piece of bread in the basket. 

And that he was pretty. Tony had known that already, of course, but he couldn’t quite get over it, kept trying to be casual and failing miserably. So very pretty. 

Bucky had noticed, of course, that Tony was watching him. He looked up at Tony from under those long lashes with eyes that were the color of stormclouds. Bucky worried at his lip with his teeth whenever he was thinking and sometimes when he was talking, he’d rest his pinkie against the corner of his lip, which was damn distracting. 

Bucky also sat with his back to a wall and had the higher situational awareness that put Tony in mind of some of his more fervent bodyguards, especially the ones who’d been around when Tony was younger and went through what seemed like an absolute epidemic of being kidnapped and held for ransom. Apparently, a bunch of really third-rate bad guys had thought that Howard might be willing to part with some cash for his son back. Hadn’t worked out for them, very well. Tony’d gotten pretty good about escaping from restraints and picking locks and building bombs out of kitchen supplies. At least tonight, Tony hoped that high-alert wouldn’t be necessary for anything more than not having a mouthful of food when the waiter came over to ask if everything was to their satisfaction. 

The other thing Tony learned was that Bucky had impossibly long legs and that he sprawled when he sat down, legs carelessly extended under the table. When Tony had kicked him under the table the first time, Tony had apologized and drawn his feet back. Usually playing footsie under the table wasn’t a thing for Tony; at his very tallest (with the inserts in his shoes) was about 5’7”, so there was ample space for Tony’s legs and just about anyone else’s. Bucky, however, had stretched out just a little further, hooked the toe of his shoe around the back of Tony’s ankle and dragged his foot forward a few inches, then pressed his calf against Tony’s. 

That little point of contact, unseen and secret and affectionate, was _doing things_ to Tony. 

The only word that Tony could find to describe his mental situation was _captivated_. Or maybe _smitten_. 

Balthazar’s was a popular place, and Tony was unsurprised when his attendance got some attention. A few tech-fans had come over to ask -- very nicely -- if they could get selfies with the man who’d invented their phones, and Tony was happy enough to oblige them. 

And Bucky spotted Scarlett Johansson with her current husband, the advertising mogul, Romain Dauriac. He stared for a long time, almost bordering on rude, but not for the reasons Tony thought. “You know, Clint said so, but I didn’t quite believe him.” Bucky scrolled through his phone pictures and eventually came up with one of Clint with his wife, who did bear a startling resemblance to the actress, except Nat had red hair and ScarJo was usually blonde. 

Dinner was good, and dessert was better. Bucky insisted on feeding Tony a few spoonfuls of his creme brulee, which was actually quite good, but the sharing was better. In the manner of social media and hashtags, Tony and Bucky were a trending topic on Twitter before they left the restaurant. Not shocking, but Tony texted Happy to come pick them up at the door. Even so, one of the rag-journalists grabbed Bucky’s arm before they could make a clean getaway. 

Those stormcloud eyes went flat and angry at the touch, and Bucky shook the man’s hand off forcefully. _No, bad,_ Tony thought. _Do not assault the paparazzi._ Not that Tony had room to talk, really, but still. Darcy would kill them both. 

“Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark,” one of the gathered reporters yelled, “is it true that --” 

“Oh, come on, now Matthew,” Tony said, giving the man his best press-grin, “you know that nothing anyone says about me is _true_.” 

“Or everything is,” one of the other reporters shot back. 

“Well, I’ll just leave that to you to figure out,” Tony responded, and shoved Bucky toward the car, hard, with the hand at the small of his back so it looked like an affectionate gesture. Once they were safely inside the back of Tony’s car, Happy at the wheel and on their way to the theater, Tony was able to take a breath and notice how badly Bucky was shaking. 

“Hey, hey,” Tony said. “You all right?” 

“I don’t…” Bucky took a few deep, shuddering breaths and raked his hands through his hair, messing it all up. “I don’t like to be touched when I’m not… when I don’t know the person.” 

“Yeah,” Tony said. “They do that, sometimes. I expect we’ll end up going through another gauntlet on the way into the theater. Unless you want to skip that --” 

“No, it’s fine,” Bucky said. He scraped his hair back again and returned it to the bun, somewhat less smooth and suave than it had been before, which just added to the appeal. “Just…” 

“Did Darcy give you a prepped statement, in case anyone asks you questions?” Tony asked. He had a few fall-back lines of his own, although they’d been in place since long before Darcy had become his social-media maven. 

Bucky actually chuckled and Tony relaxed against the back of the seat. “She tried,” he said, “but apparently, I am useless at delivering a prepared speech. I’ve been relegated to ‘no comment’ until she can get me lined up with an acting coach.” 

They did manage to get into the theater without further incident, although someone with a telephoto lens and too much time on their hands had taken note of the messed up nature of Bucky’s hair after getting out of the car, and the angle of the shot prompted the glibly less-than-140-character post, “Where is Stark’s hand and why is Mr. Barnes smiling?” 

When Tony leaned over before the curtain went up to show the tweet to Bucky, the poor guy went so red in the face that Tony had a hard time not laughing. And since they were right next to each other, when the lights went dim, Tony gave up on resisting his other impulse, and let his fingers rest on Bucky’s thigh for the entirety of the first act.


	15. Putty in his Hands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wanda glanced up at him. Bucky could tell she’d had entirely too many daiquiris for her own good and was just as glad she’d decided to stay at the penthouse rather than go home with J. “Put your sister to bed, Piet,” he said. “Let her sleep it off.”
> 
> “‘M not so very drunk,” Wanda protested, but let herself be prodded to her feet.
> 
> Tony scratched his neck. “She could give me a run for my money.” He peered into the blender. “There’s not a drop left and this is not a small container.”
> 
> “Well, I think Sam had one,” Pietro said. He ushered Wanda back into the bedroom, while she yawned and complained in drunken, slurred tones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter contains medical issues (Steve's asthma), references to racist based violence toward Muslims and other PoCs after 9-11, and family drama.

Tony Stark, Bucky decided, was the most callous, ice-cold bastard in history. Or something. He wasn’t sure. Bucky had never been so turned around in his life and all from the man doing a little harmless flirting and resting his hand on Bucky’s leg. 

That had been distracting as hell for the first few moments, and then he’d gotten adjusted, and as soon as he’d dismissed it, Tony had moved his fingers. Which started the pattern: sharp awareness of exactly where Tony’s hand was, and then a gradual calming period, and then wham! He’d twitch, or tap, or slide his fingernails along the inside of Bucky’s thigh. Each time, Bucky got just a little bit aroused, which would’ve been fine, except that it never quite all bled away before Tony moved again. Each repetition of the pattern ratcheted him up a little higher, until by the time the intermission came ‘round, Bucky was so hard and aching that he couldn’t _possibly_ get out of his seat. 

When Tony came back from stretching his legs, Bucky leaned over and hissed in his ear, “You are a menace.” 

Tony gave Bucky the most round-eyed, _who me?_ face in the history of lying. When the first slimy creature crawled out of the ocean to take a breath of air, it had gone back in and told all its friends “hey, this is great, you should come up” which was the very start of lying, and in all that time, evolution had backed Tony up until he was a shining example of the art of prevarication. 

“How are you enjoying the show?” Tony asked, ignoring the very pointed glare that Bucky was gift-wrapping for him. 

“I got no idea,” Bucky snapped. “Because _someone’s_ got me more wound up than a pocket-watch, I ain’t been payin’ attention.” 

Tony scooped up his program and fanned at Bucky’s face with it. “You do look a little overheated.” Like Bucky was a woman avoiding her AARP membership and starting The Change. 

“God, you’re worse than Clint,” Bucky said, snatching the makeshift fan away from Tony and sitting on it. Which was a mistake of epic proportions, because of course Tony grabbed for it, and of course he took his time about it and of course Bucky had neither the will nor the wit to stop him. 

At least for the second act, Tony kept his hands above waist level. He did, however, put one arm around Bucky’s shoulders and fiddled with his hair and ear for the whole rest of the performance. Which was very bad, because he found that spot, right behind Bucky’s ear, that made him all loose limbed and pliable and apt to purr like a kitten. 

Which meant Bucky was at least able to walk out of the theater at the end of the show without doubling over from the worst case of blue balls ever, but when he followed Tony into the back of the car, he wanted very little more than to lay across Tony’s lap and get petted. 

Happy took one look at their faces when they climbed in and rolled up the privacy glass with all due haste, which made Tony laugh. “Happy knows how I look when I’m on the prowl,” Tony said, twining his fingers into Bucky’s hair and bringing him in for a kiss. 

Bucky went into it gladly, eager and wanting and not just a little bit frustrated and aching for some revenge. Tony surrendered to Bucky’s hands, drew him all the way down until they were stretched out in the back seat, somewhat cramped, and reminded Bucky a little of necking with Sarah in Big Jim’s Plymouth until the windows were all foggy. 

Bucky got a hand on Tony’s tie, loosened the knot and worked it down until he could open the top few buttons, sliding his hand along the smooth skin of Tony’s chest. There’d been so much he’d wanted to do and touch and taste, and their first -- whatever you wanted to call it -- in the lab had been so frantic and crazed that Bucky hadn’t had time to do much of anything. Not, mind, that he was complaining. 

Tony looked delicious, all disheveled, shirt unbuttoned but tie still on, belt open, when his eyes widened. Bucky nudged at his throat, licking the skin there, and he felt Tony’s voice rumble underneath him. 

“Drive around the block, Haps,” Tony said, sitting up. 

“Wha?” Bucky pulled back, his hair in his face, the taste of Tony’s skin lingering on his lips. 

“We’re almost home,” Tony said. 

“And?” Home. Bucky liked the sound of that. Home. That meant beds and -- 

“The _band_ is in my penthouse,” Tony pointed out. “You know, your niece and nephew and the boyfriend and the not-boyfriend. Bunch of twenty-somethings who are going to know in an instant that we’ve been making out in my car, and who are not going to appreciate the artistry of a half-dressed me and you in such a state.” 

“Christ’s cup, you are a _menace_!” Bucky yelped, scrambling backward and buttoning up his own shirt -- he hadn’t even noticed Tony getting it half-off him, so wrapped up was he in the perfection of Tony’s skin under his fingertips. 

It ended up taking two trips around the building to repair the damage, and Bucky was pretty sure they were only going to barely pass muster as it was. Tony had one rising pale bruise on his throat that was very obviously the perfect shape of Bucky’s mouth and Bucky had a bit of beard rash on the left cheek. Bucky’s hair was wrecked and tangled, and Tony’s shirt was badly wrinkled and one of the buttons was missing. But at least they weren’t _screamingly_ obvious. He hoped. 

* * *

 

The rehearsal had gone well, which is all that J and Pietro cared about, and if Wanda noticed the state Bucky was in, she didn’t mention it. Steve, at least, was asleep. Bucky peeled out of the expensive coat and threw it over the back of a chair, cuffing up his shirt sleeves and loosening his tie. 

“You just need a haircut, and you’d look like Paul McCartney,” Sam said. The kid’s phone buzzed and he glanced down at it again, sending off a quick text. “J tells me you used to play.” 

Bucky held up his left arm. “Haven’t since before Stevie was born.” He flexed his fingers thoughtfully. “Might be able to again, now, but I’m way out of practice.” 

Tony broke out the blender and started mixing up daiquiris, which immediately entered him into Wanda’s list of Best People Ever. Bucky let himself be talked into two drinks, then went to check on Stevie, before the party got too loud. J didn’t drink, hadn’t for as long as Bucky had known him, so at least one of the so-called adults could be responsible for a while. 

Steve was conked out in the ridiculously large bed, a queen-sized thing that had no reason to house a rising second grader. The room was faintly lit by a blue nightlight in the bathroom and after a moment, Bucky’s eyes adjusted. Across the wall-side of the bed was an enormous stack of weird little cylindrical stuffed animals. Tsum tsums, or something like that. Darcy had been delighted when Steve admired the little one she carried around in her purse and made it her mission in life to get Steve a whole collection. 

Even asleep, Steve was wheezing, that little hitch and rattle in his breath. Bucky grabbed the post-it on the table and held it up to the lit screen on his phone. Steve had last used his inhaler at 8:30, when Wanda put him to bed, and since it was after midnight now… 

He opened the bedside table and pulled out the nebulizer. He poured a tiny plastic bottle of medication into the reservoir and tapped the side a few times. All set up, Bucky gently shook his son awake. “Stevie.” 

Waking up always put a strain on Steve’s system; he gasped and then the wheezing started in earnest, and Bucky always felt bad when he had to do it, but if he let Steve sleep through an asthma attack, they’d be in the emergency room before dawn. 

“Come on, kiddo,” Bucky said. He sat down on the bed, braced his back against the headboard and let Steve climb into his lap. He tugged the elastic out and placed the mask over Steve’s mouth and nose, then tightened the strap, petting Steve’s hair as his son struggled to breathe, to relax into the medication. His heart beat as fast as a bird’s under Bucky’s hand. 

It took a good half hour for all the medicine to finish cycling through the evaporator and into the mask for Steve to breathe. By then, Steve was fully awake, but yawning as Bucky took the mask off him. He turned off the machine, held his son to his chest. 

“Better,” Steve said, to the question that Bucky didn’t even have to ask anymore. 

“Is there anything I can do?” Tony asked. Bucky had no idea how long Tony had been standing in the doorway, watching. 

“Um, yeah, actually,” Bucky said, soft, hoping Steve would be able to get back to sleep quickly. “I need a wet washcloth and a glass of water for him?” 

Tony played fetch and carry for him, and Bucky carefully washed Steve’s face, then got him to swish his mouth out and spit back into the glass. The medication in the nebulizer could be caustic, and sometimes Steve would get terrible sores in and around his mouth from using the very medication that kept him breathing. 

Bucky arranged the pillows again, so Steve could sleep at a half-recline. It never lasted; by morning he’d be flat on his back again, in the worst position an asthmatic could sleep in, but there wasn’t anything Bucky could do about that. He tucked the Pooh Bear stuffed animal into Steve’s arms and kissed his son’s forehead. He grabbed the nebulizer on his way out of the room and took it into the bathroom to wash out the tubing and the mask and inspect all the components for wear and tear, or worse, mildew. 

The steady habits of cleaning the machine calmed Bucky; his chest was always tight whenever Steve needed a treatment, as if his body was trying to take over the burden of breathing for Steve. 

“Is he okay?” Tony asked. The penthouse was quiet again; J and Sam had gone home while Bucky was tending to Steve. Pietro was still there, on the sofa, running a brush through his sister’s hair when Bucky threw himself into one of the chairs. 

“He’s okay,” Bucky said. “During the day, his inhaler usually holds off the worst of it, but if he’s having trouble at night, the nebulizer works better.” 

Wanda glanced up at him. Bucky could tell she’d had entirely too many daiquiris for her own good and was just as glad she’d decided to stay at the penthouse rather than go home with J. “Put your sister to bed, Piet,” he said. “Let her sleep it off.” 

“‘M not so very drunk,” Wanda protested, but let herself be prodded to her feet. 

Tony scratched his neck. “She could give me a run for my money.” He peered into the blender. “There’s not a drop left and this is not a small container.” 

“Well, I think Sam had one,” Pietro said. He ushered Wanda back into the bedroom, while she yawned and complained in drunken, slurred tones. 

Tony brought over a glass of something that smelled like strawberries and rum. “I didn’t want to run the blender again,” he said. “Apparently Wanda’s got this Pavlovian response to it.” 

“Yeah,” Bucky said. He still wasn’t used to the idea of his niece being an adult and drinking and everything. Weird how that was; when they were younger, Wanda had been the safe and sane one, with Pietro trying to get himself killed every other week or so. Maybe, now that Pietro was settling in -- the band helped, obviously; Pietro was really just an attention hound at heart -- Wanda felt like she could be a little more herself. “Thanks for, you know, lettin’ ‘em stay here and not… freaking out.” 

“About what?” Tony asked. “Oh, the sharing a bed thing? I don’t care. They’re close, they love each other. When I was a kid, I was alone. Like all the time. I’d have… I would have done anything to have what they have.” 

“Bothers the fuck out of their dad,” Bucky said. “Course Lehnsherr didn’t show up until they were almost teenagers, an’ he doesn’t understand.” 

“What happened?” 

“Well, Erik and my sister, Mags, had a thing back in high school, got serious for a while, but then Erik -- he got into college halfway ‘cross the country and he just... left. Didn’t write to her, didn’t take her calls. I dunno, maybe he took the one where she tol’ him she was pregnant and then disappeared. Mags doesn’t talk about that much. She got a job doing housekeeping for this guy, Django Maximoff and when she was about six months and huge--” Bucky held his arms out, the way Mags had looked, like she’d swallowed a watermelon. “--he offered to marry her. She said yes. So, the kids were legally his. An’ then 9/11 happened and the world went to shit, and some yahoo patriotic American cowboy decided that Django was a Muslim. He wasn’t, not that it matters. He ended up dead in one of those ‘incidents’ that everyone likes to ignore happened.” 

“Well, that’s terrible,” Tony said, frowning into his rum-flavored juice. 

“Couple years after that, the twins were about ten, I think,” Bucky continued, “and suddenly Erik came back. Big, bad plastic surgeon, and makin’ money and all of a sudden _family_ matters to him. Or at least, the appearance of family matters to his practice, whatever. He and I might have got into a punching match about it -- look close, next time you see him. That broken nose? All me.” Still one of his favorite memories; Erik had made a very satisfying thump when he hit the floor. 

“That why he hates you?” 

“No,” Bucky said. “He hates me because I backed the twins about not changing their last name. Erik adopted them when he and Mags got married, but they didn’t want to change their name, and Mags…” Bucky shrugged. “Mags doesn’t like confrontation. She’ll lean whatever direction the wind is blowing, and me an’ the twins and Sarah an’ Clint for that matter, all blew in the same direction. He thinks I… overshadowed his parental authority.” Which, Bucky admitted, he totally had. But Django had been there for their first Christmas and lost teeth and first bike rides and even if Mags had never fully loved the man, Django had loved and fathered Bucky’s niece and nephew as if they were his own, and Bucky wasn’t going to take that away and give it to a man who’d put his own interests in front of his responsibilities.


	16. Lay Your Hands On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So,” Tony said briskly, “now that we’ve taken an epic time out for my terrible self-esteem, I think we can get back to the banging me on the floor behind the bar.”
> 
> “Whatever you need, Tony,” Bucky said, and then his mouth was on Tony’s, a communion of heat and passion, his tongue flicking out to taste Tony’s bottom lip. When Tony gasped, Bucky pushed in, stroking the inside of Tony’s cheek, along his teeth, thrusting. Tony strained upward, rubbing against Bucky’s hard body. One of Bucky’s hands slipped beneath him and grabbed a handful of Tony’s ass, grinding them together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter is pretty much nothing but smut. See end notes for a quick summary of the stuff that's plot...

Tony didn’t really know what to say to any of that; his parents had been gone for over two decades and there weren’t aunts or cousins or brothers or any of that stuff. He vaguely remembered meeting his mother’s mom one time, when he was four, maybe, but he didn’t have any specific recollections. There’d been a cook, at one point, and then Obie, who’d taken over as _parentis loci_ for a few months, but Tony was nearly an adult when his parents died, so there really wasn’t much Obie could do, and Tony supposed he should at least be grateful for that, since Obie had turned out to be a traitorous bastard. 

Well, there was Rhodey, of course, but Rhodey had a career in the military and it wasn’t fair of Tony to expect someone to put their whole life on hold just because Tony got lonely. 

“So, this was nice,” Bucky said. He gestured with his mostly empty glass. “The date, I mean. Thanks.” 

“You got it,” Tony said. “You want a refill on that?” Tony moved to the bar and started disassembling the blender. A moment later, a warm body pressed against his back, strong arms going around his waist. 

“No,” Bucky said, nuzzling at Tony’s neck and then up, to nip at his earlobe. “Want somethin’ else, though.” 

Tony kept his voice light and teasing, even as he let himself sag into Bucky’s comforting heat. “Oh? What might that be?” 

“You are a terrible tease,” Bucky accused him, lips against Tony’s throat. 

“Yeah?” Tony asked. He wiggled a little in Bucky’s grip, twisted and found himself spun, pressed up against the bar and Bucky’s mouth came down on his lips, burning and hot. Bucky’s tongue pushed his mouth open. Tony groaned and Bucky swallowed the sound, fingers coming up to cup the sides of Tony’s face. 

“Yes,” Bucky said. He rested his forehead against Tony’s, looking at him through the curtains of his long eyelashes. “You are. And you know it.” 

The thing was, Tony had put himself out there, he’d done it and gotten his head bitten off and if he wasn’t quite corny enough to decide his heart was broken, he’d at least been smacked in the head and sent packing. Despite Bucky’s recent about-face, Tony was still feeling raw. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to… whatever. The whatevering sounded really damn interesting, but he was also sore and raw and still bleeding. Get back on the bike. Good advice, but still, it sucked. 

Which meant he knew he was being a tease. He was being completely unfair, but he wasn’t going to extend himself any more. Bucky had to meet him more than halfway now. At least, that was the plan. 

But the plan was going to hell, because Tony was still sinking into Bucky’s heat and moaning under the pressure from his fingers and succumbing to his kisses. Because Tony was an idiot. And Bucky was ridiculously hot, and holy shit, his nimble fingers had gotten Tony’s belt undone and Tony didn’t know how to stop him, didn’t _want_ to stop him, but there was this tiny voice in his head that was muttering about how this was such a bad idea, a straight track right back into heartache and… 

 _Holy shit._ Bucky was on his knees, behind the bar, Tony’s hands in his hair and Bucky was peeling Tony’s expensive suit pants down his thighs and... 

 _What the hell am I doing?_ Apparently, what he was doing was letting an ex-military, single dad suck his cock, and ohmigod… Tony spread his legs a little, his elbows coming down heavy on the bar to hold himself up and watched, as if he was having a little out of body experience, as Bucky nuzzled at him, listened to the sounds coming out of his own throat. 

“Oh, _god_ ,” Tony said. His resolution of maybe they shouldn’t go to bed until they’d had a few more dates was rapidly going off the rails, except technically they weren’t in a bed, and the way Bucky’s lips were wrapped around him, Tony didn’t think they were going to get there, either. Not this time, at least, and part of him was very interested in the fact that he was already thinking of a _this time_ , which meant there was probably going to be a _next time_ , and once was a mistake, twice was choice and three times was a habit, and Bucky was going to be a fucking hard habit to break. 

The asshole part of his brain (which was not the same part as the genius part, or the same part as the obsessive-compulsive, and it wasn’t even close to the tiny voice that was yelling about what a goddamn bad idea all this was) took note of the fact that Bucky really didn’t have a very good technique, that this was the sloppiest blow job Tony’d had since he was nineteen and Ty had brought a third partner for the night who was a virgin (Tony couldn’t even remember the guy’s name, and didn’t want to). Didn’t seem to matter; technique or no, Bucky was making Tony crazy and that asshole part pointed out that if he played his cards right, he could teach Bucky exactly what to do and when and how hard. Exactly how to give the perfect blowjob for one Tony Stark. 

“Nnnnnngh,” Tony groaned. One elbow slipped off the bar and a moment later he was flat on his back on the floor, Bucky leaning over him. 

“Hey there,” Bucky said, leaning on his elbow and tracing his fingers down Tony’s chest. 

“Hi,” Tony managed. Bucky was still mostly dressed, the tie loose around his throat, his sleeves rolled up to show off his forearms, hair in his face. He was the most beautiful thing Tony had ever seen. There were words for this ache in Tony’s chest, but he didn’t want to give them voice. “Inspecting the merchandise?” Tony asked, making a vague hand-wavy gesture in the direction of his body. 

Bucky ducked his chin, cheeks flaring with color, and damn, that was so unfair, because if there was anything that was like catnip for Tony, it was someone whose sense of shame had not yet been surgically removed. “Do you… not want…” Bucky said, his color rising higher and those beautiful eyes downcast. 

So, now they were getting around to actually asking and enthusiastic consent and there might be something wrong with the fact that Tony wasn’t at all used to that. He and Pepper had just happened, they were on the same brain wave or they weren’t and she was showing him her perfect ass as she stalked off, calling him names. Ty… well, there was no sense thinking about _that_ , honestly. And this was his opportunity to call a halt to the whole thing. 

Tony took so long to gather his wits that the light in Bucky’s eyes began to fade, and suddenly there was nothing Tony wanted more. “Oh, I _want_ , all right,” Tony said. He worked a tentative smile over his mouth, touching Bucky’s hair, his neck, down his shoulder. “Just not entirely sure what that is. What this is. Not enough data.” 

“Trial by fire boyfriending,” Bucky said, the smile coming back to his mouth and he turned his head to nuzzle at Tony’s hand. 

“Sweet Tesla,” Tony muttered. “You scare me to death, James Barnes.” 

“Me?” Bucky drew back, studying Tony with incredulous eyes. 

“You. You with your perfect mouth and your beautiful eyes and the way you do that thing, where you look at me like… yes, that, right there, stop doing that. It is absolutely impossible for me to think while you’re making that face,” Tony babbled, really, he just let his mouth loose and let it run wherever it wanted to. 

Bucky propped his chin on Tony’s chest, stared up at him. “Okay, I’m gettin’ the what here, but the why might be a little more helpful.” And were they really having this conversation with Tony half undressed, cock out, on the floor behind his bar? Fuck, apparently they really were. This night just kept getting more surreal. What had he been drinking, because honestly, it hadn’t been enough for this, no, not at _all_. 

Tony rolled himself up onto his side, letting the loose end of his shirt cover up his business. “Look, a week ago, you told me not to call you, and I was trying to respect that, PR appearances not withstanding, but now you’re all over me, and it’s not that I’m not enjoying it, because I am, so very much, but also, I am confused. I don’t have any expectations here, and you are all over the map, so I don’t even have any _guesses_. I… I don’t mind going straight to crazy town if that’s what you want to do, but I’d like to know which train I’m on.” 

Bucky chewed his lip -- for a guy who claimed to not have any press experience at all, he certainly knew how to play an image for all it was worth -- considering. “You wanted to know if I’dda asked you out, if I knew who you were. And I wouldn’t’ve. Because _Tony Stark_ is intimidating as hell and I’m a _nobody_ from Brooklyn, for fuck’s sake. But I _did_ ask you out. And I like _that guy_. He’s been hiding from me, but I thought I saw him peekin’ out earlier tonight.” 

“You know that I don’t actually have two distinct personalities or anything, right? Tony Stark: billionaire, genius, playboy, philanthropist. That’s me. All of me comes in the same damn packaging. Batteries included, no assembly required.” 

“Look, I’m already getting the parts of the package that I _didn’t_ want -- the notoriety and the press and the bullshit. So… might as well get the parts I wanted, right? I mean, if that’s still a thing that you want, and I ain’t already wrecked it. Because, honest, Tony, the two dates we’ve had have been really great, and I’ve been enjoying that bit, when I can stop remembering that I’m out on a date with _Tony Stark_.” 

“I think you are overestimating how intimidating Tony Stark is and drastically underestimating what a badass Bucky Barnes is, personally,” Tony said. “I mean, do you even have a clue how incredible you are?” 

Bucky snorted, like he didn’t quite believe that. “Incredible enough for you to actually date, or not?” 

“I asked you on a second date, didn’t I, that first night?” Tony asked. “And I thought you did know who I was.” 

“You did,” Bucky admitted, looking shyly pleased. 

Tony snuggled against Bucky’s side, one hand tracing the side of his face. “So, do you normally get this frisky on the second date, or am I just special?” 

“I got no idea, Tony,” Bucky said, his right arm moving in a shrug. “You’re only th’ second person I’ve dated at all. I grew up with Sarah; we had our second date when she was _twelve_. It was a group-skate thing, and she fell over and skinned her knee tryin’ to skate backward.” 

“Epic bad date,” Tony remarked. “I can see why she didn’t put out.” 

“You are a terrible person,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes in that way that meant he was trying not to laugh. 

“But you like me anyway.” 

“Yes,” Bucky said, and that smolder was back in his eyes and Tony melted under it. “I do, actually.” 

“So,” Tony said briskly, “now that we’ve taken an _epic_ time out for my terrible self-esteem, I think we can get back to the banging me on the floor behind the bar.” 

“Whatever you need, Tony,” Bucky said, and then his mouth was on Tony’s, a communion of heat and passion, his tongue flicking out to taste Tony’s bottom lip. When Tony gasped, Bucky pushed in, stroking the inside of Tony’s cheek, along his teeth, thrusting. Tony strained upward, rubbing against Bucky’s hard body. One of Bucky’s hands slipped beneath him and grabbed a handful of Tony’s ass, grinding them together.  

Tony wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck, and Bucky kissed down Tony’s jaw, coming to rest along the pulse point of his throat, tasting, nipping. “I need you,” Tony said, surrendering to the fire inside him. 

That sparked something in Bucky and his mouth came back down on Tony’s, not gentle now, but rough, bruising, conquering, his hands on Tony’s clothing, working him out of the suit. The carpeting behind the bar was rough and hot against his skin, uncomfortably prickly, but Tony did not care; he wanted, needed, to have as much of his skin against Bucky’s as he could get. He reached up and started down the buttons on Bucky’s shirt, peeling it away from his chest. Tony slid the collar out, leaving the tie loose around Bucky’s neck, pushing the sleeves down his shoulders until Bucky hastily yanked the shirt off and away. Tony pressed a kiss to Bucky’s chest, astonished, again, at how strong Bucky was, the clean line of muscles, dotted with scars over his shoulder where the arm attached. 

Tony arched up, his mouth trailing along Bucky’s chest, the flat planes and ridges, until his lips closed around Bucky’s nipple, tiny and brown and hard. Bucky groaned, low and hot, the muscles in his arm trembling as he held himself there, hovering over Tony. “Like that, do you?” Tony murmured, letting his lip tease against the pebble-hard flesh. He rubbed his thumb against the other nipple and Bucky panted for air, eyes wide and wild, almost pulling away and Tony chased him down. “God, you’re sensitive.” 

Bucky dropped to the floor at Tony’s side, surrendering, and he clung as if Tony was the only solid thing in a world turned crazy and volatile. Tony allowed himself one smug grin before pressing against Bucky, his hand running down the soft skin, along Bucky’s belly until he found the buckle of Bucky’s belt. He moved his hand lower, brushed the erection that was pressing hard at the fine fabric of Bucky’s trousers. Bucky inhaled, held it and then shivered out a sigh as Tony paused, then cupped his hand lightly around Bucky’s dick, testing the shape of it. 

“Nice,” Tony said. “I--” 

Bucky grabbed Tony’s wrist, pushed his hand harder against Bucky’s groin; Bucky canted his hips up into it, eyes squeezed shut, mouth open to breathe. Tony let his fingers curl, the heel of his hand against Bucky’s shaft, fingertips drawing teasing lines along Bucky’s balls. 

“You know, this works better with pants off,” Tony said. Bucky opened his eyes, looked at Tony like he’d been destroyed and rebuilt, lovely and needy. “God, you’re beautiful.” 

Bucky couldn’t get out of his pants fast enough, hand flying to his belt, then unfastening his pants. His zipper came down with a dull sound, and then he was arching up, letting Tony help him, the fabric fighting them the whole time. 

Tony was hard-pressed not to laugh, because the whole thing was ridiculous, and at the same time, more necessary than anything he’d ever done before. Tony ran a teasing hand across the silky front of Bucky’s boxers, relishing the throaty sounds that came out of Bucky’s mouth. There it was, that tiny button that held the fly shut and Tony popped it, sticking one finger inside the gap of fabric, fingertip brushing against the hot flesh of Bucky’s cock. 

“Tony, Tony,” Bucky gasped, eyes wide and pupils dark with desire. 

“Hmmm?” Tony wiggled his fingers, watching as Bucky jerked his hips again, sensual and wriggling. “Something you wanted?” 

“Come on, come on, _Tony_ ,” Bucky whined, impatient and eager. 

“This?” Tony flattened his hand, sliding his palm down the length of Bucky’s cock, still over the surface of his boxers, letting the slick fabric do his job for him, teasing and drawing it out. “Or did you have something else in mind?” Tony traced a line of wet kisses down Bucky’s ribs, then tongued the skin over the waistband of his boxers to that dark trail of hair that led down. On the left side, Bucky’s hip and belly were peppered with soft white scars, little jagged lines of icy-silver where the shrapnel had sliced him open. Tony shivered inside, thinking of how close he’d gotten to never meeting this remarkable man at all. 

He kissed each scar, tasting the texture of each twist and line until Bucky was squirming and pleading, delicious and delirious, by the time Tony’s finally got his boxers off. Bucky’s cock was something else, thick and heavy and dark. Even there, along the velvet skin, was another one of those damn white lines. Bucky looked like someone had opened a water-sprinkler of shrapnel on him, soaking his left side. 

And he was so utterly, shockingly glorious. _God, grant a prayer,_ Tony thought, reverent, as he tongued his way down Bucky’s body to the length of his cock, tongue skating over the surface. Bucky had managed to make his way up onto his elbows, mouth falling open as he watched. Tony dropped his jaw, opened up, and took Bucky in, as far as he could, then slid back. 

“Ohmigod,” Bucky breathed. He fell backward, head knocking against the floor, his hands coming up to cover his eyes, his teeth bared. 

“This is better?” Tony asked, god, he was such a bastard. He cupped his fingers along Bucky’s dick, stroked up once. “Or that?” Bucky didn’t answer, _couldn’t_ , Tony thought, so he alternated, the mouth and then the hand, his palm getting soaked with his own saliva until really, there was very little difference. 

Bucky cried out, shockingly loud, then bit down on his forearm. 

“Careful,” Tony said, teasing and fresh, “you’ll wake up Stevie.” 

“God, there should be a law against you, Tony,” Bucky grumbled. 

“I’m sure there are a few misdemeanors, at least,” Tony admitted, not stopping the motion of his hand as he stroked Bucky toward the edge. 

“Not allowed to mention m’ son during _sex_ ,” Bucky said, then arched up again, clenching his teeth against a second cry, sweet and so very tempting. Tony was a bad man, unable to resist, so he set to work to see if he could push Bucky into another of those wanton moans. 

Tony twisted around a little, got a better angle. He put one hand down, firm, on Bucky’s sternum, the other arm curled under his own chest. Tony curled his hand around the base of Bucky’s cock to control his depth and thrust, and Tony went down, his mouth working, tongue sliding along the hot flesh. Bucky’s hand dropped onto Tony’s wrist, cool metal, holding it, finger stroking little circles along the back of Tony’s hand. The other, flesh arm, went down, limp at his side, fist clenching and relaxing, the perfect curve of Bucky’s teeth imprinted on the fleshy part of his forearm where he’d bitten. Ripples of want twisted inside Tony’s stomach at the sight, wanting those perfect teeth on him, against his shoulder, the side of his throat, but not now. 

He wanted more than he was going to get; behind the bar was all fine and well, but there was no lube and Tony wasn’t sure Bucky was coherent enough to get up and scamper for one of the bedrooms, so, blowies it was going to have to be, and that was good enough for now. Tony actually adored cock in his mouth. (Not quite as much as he wanted that smooth, sinking weight on him, wanted to feel the ache of Bucky filling him, but he certainly wasn’t going to complain.) 

Bucky shifted and groaned, low and guttural, quieter than the last one but no less urgent. His hand moved to the back of Tony’s neck, not pushing or directing, just holding him. Tony had a mouthful of cock and spit, and he could feel the excess spilling down his chin, pooling in a sticky mess at the base of Bucky’s cock. Tony twisted his hand, pushing that slippery wetness up and down. He slanted his eyes up, checking the expression on Bucky’s face and Bucky was _watching_ him, eyes nearly slitted closed, but still watching, needing to see.Tony was speared at the end of that look. He swallowed, his cheeks and throat clenching and closing around the thickness in his mouth. 

“Oh god,” Bucky said, mouth open, then bit his lip, teeth white and sharp against the redness of his mouth. “‘M gonna. Tony… Tony, wait… do you…  in your _mouth_?” Bucky tried to pull back, but Tony slid his arm under Bucky’s thighs, holding him, pinning him down, god damn, Bucky wasn’t going _anywhere_. Bucky lost it, thrust up, hips working furiously, fucking Tony’s face and throat, and uttering little wild cries, soft and eager. 

Tony’s mouth was flooded with hot come and he swallowed defensively, swallowed again to keep from choking on it, and Bucky wailed, not even the slightest bit quiet. Tony couldn’t help but smirk around his mouthful, and the stretch of his lips got another one of those desperate moans until Bucky fell back, limp and spent, against the floor. 

Tony pulled off with an obscene, slurping, popping sound and panted against Bucky’s thighs. “That… that was not a bit quiet,” Tony pointed out. 

“Shut up,” Bucky said, breathing loud and slow. 

“I’m not the one who’s gonna wake the whole house,” Tony felt obligated to point out. 

Bucky groaned, embarrassment this time and not any of those other, lovely little sounds, covering his face with his hands. “Menace,” Bucky muttered. 

“I admit everything, I regret nothing.” 

Bucky scooted down, bringing himself level with Tony, and tilted his head for a kiss, which Tony delivered on request, waiting, and then… Bucky’s eyes sprang open, surprised. He pulled back, licked his lips tentatively. “You… taste like me,” Bucky said, almost like he was perplexed. 

“That happens,” Tony said. “I can rinse.” He struggled to get an arm under himself, and then Bucky was grabbing his hips and pulling him back down. 

“ _Don’t_ ,” Bucky said, his voice deep, growly, primitive, and that sound went straight from Tony’s ears right to his cock. Before he could consider all the implications of that, Bucky’s mouth slammed down on his, devouring him, tasting the mix of Tony’s tongue and Bucky’s own spent come and god, that was so hot, just _mind-meltingly_ hot, tongues and the scrape of teeth and Bucky’s breath against his cheek. 

Bucky released Tony’s mouth, nuzzling at his jaw and ear for a moment. “Okay, okay,” Bucky said, panting. “Gimme a sec. I… nnnng, Tony. Stop kissing me.” 

“You’re the one kissing me,” Tony said, laughing. 

“Shut up,” Bucky said. He pulled himself into a sitting position, all loose-limbed and messy hair and his shirt still holding onto one wrist, pants around his ankles. He grumbled, got himself untangled, ran one hand through his hair, which did not help the serious corkscrews he had going on. “C’mere.” 

“You are so bossy,” Tony mock-complained. “Stop kissing, shut up, come here. You’d think I was your--” Tony lost the thread of his rant when Bucky pulled him over, curling around Tony’s back, spooning him. Bucky’s hand dipped around Tony’s waist and palmed his dick and whatever Tony was going to say went straight out of his head. Two quick strokes and then Bucky raised his arm, and licked his own palm before dropping back down for another rub, his palm slick with spit and Tony arched up into it. “Oh, that’s… that’s so…” 

“Shhhh,” Bucky said in Tony’s ear, then licked his hand again, more, wetter, and Tony went boneless -- well, except for _that_ , which was very much boner -- as Bucky stroked him again. Bucky hooked his ankle over Tony’s, stretched Tony’s legs apart, leaving him open and exposed, continued to use his hand. 

Bucky had his back against the bar-cabinet, which meant Tony was looking straight at the mirror behind the bar. Bucky curled around him like a shadow, those blue eyes intense as ice chips, his hair hanging in his face. He rubbed briskly against Tony’s cock, no hesitation, quick and sure and, _nnnnnnnngh_ , that was good. When Bucky caught Tony watching them in the mirror, he met Tony’s gaze, pinned him with it until Tony couldn’t look at anything else, couldn’t blink, could barely breathe. 

“Here,” Bucky said, soft, in his ear. He dragged one of Tony’s hands over, pressed him until Tony covered Bucky’s right hand with his own. “Show me what you like. I’m a fast learner.” 

And god, he was, because if there was anything Tony liked, it was sharing his genius brain and libido-crazed body with someone else. Tony let his head fall back against Bucky’s shoulder and taught him, the long, slow strokes to build the fire and then quick, the thumb around the ridge, just over that ridge, right there, and Bucky did as he was prompted. It was almost exactly like jerking himself off and exactly _nothing_ like it at the same time. Tony was writhing and whimpering with need and then Bucky’s mouth came down on his shoulder, licking and biting and sucking the skin there, and Tony went off like a fountain of fireworks, like the cork off a bottle of champagne, pushing himself backward, pushing into it, aching and needy and relieved all at once. 

“You…” Bucky said, voice full of something, Tony couldn’t quite identify it, and presently, didn’t really care. He was all loose-limbed and wrecked, scattered bits of himself all over his trial-by-fire boyfriend. 

“Me, what?” Tony turned his head a little, and the position seemed familiar, the same way Bucky had held him when he was injured, cradled and strangely intimate. 

“Nothin’,” Bucky said. He kissed Tony’s shoulder again, soft and light. “Just you. You’re… amazing.” 

Tony ducked his head a little, smiling. “Not too shabby yourself,” he said. Hmmm. Pants, pants…. These were Bucky’s pants, _those_ were Tony’s pants. He got them sorted out and pulled up mostly around his waist, grabbed his briefs -- and used them to clean up the splatters of his come from the floor, yuck, sticky -- and tucked both shirts and ties into a bundle. Shoes, there were his shoes, socks had never come off, and that was always embarrassing, but hey, no one was complaining. 

“So, um…” Awkward. Tony sighed, and muscled through it. “You can come up, sleep with me, if you want, or…” 

Bucky looked tempted, but, “Think I’ll stay down here, tonight,” he said. “I wanna check on Steve again in a few hours, an’... ‘M already guilty of movin’ faster than the Flash, here.” He scrubbed one hand through his hair and cupped the back of his neck. 

And that made sense, even if Tony had to admit to a little disappointment. “No complaints,” Tony said, giving Bucky a quick kiss. “You know where I am if you change your mind. G’nite.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Plot bits:
> 
> Tony asks for clarification of the relationship; Bucky admits that Tony Stark as a concept is intimidating.  
> Tony is only the second person Bucky's ever dated.  
> Tony is not used to be asked, or asking, for consent during sex, implications of abusive relationship with Ty Stone.


	17. Hands in the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “No, you’re mistaking your past life for mine,” Bucky said. He darted forward and kissed Tony’s cheek, feeling a little more daring than normal. They’d sort of had sex a few times, if Bucky could call a few quick hand-jobs and getting blown twice sex but Tony kept shying away from anything that Bucky considered a normal part of intimacy, the stuff that wasn’t sex but that happened in the spaces between a couple.
> 
> They were living together, dating, and yet… there was this distance. He couldn’t decide if Tony didn’t want to get closer, or if he didn’t have the slightest idea how. Or even, perhaps, that he didn’t know it was possible at all. Bucky had picked up a bit of that from his old man; Big Jim hadn’t been the sort to ask for things; when he wanted the potatoes at dinner, he’d just stared at them until Bucky’s ma had passed them over. The first time Bucky had tried that with Sarah, she’d laughed at him and moved the rolls further away. You want something, Jamie, you ask for it. You ain’t Big Jim and I ain’t your mama. With that in mind, Bucky opened his mouth to say something -- he wasn’t even sure what, yet, but Tony interrupted him.

It was strange, Bucky thought, riding up the elevator, the things that a man could get used to. He was used to thinking certain ways, doing certain things. But it hadn’t taken him long to adjust, and now he hardly wondered at doing things like riding up sixty floors in a glass-backed elevator. (It was actually faster to ride up the central elevator that had a keyport and opened into Tony’s foyer, but Bucky liked the glass one, even though he had to climb the last flight of stairs and go in through the housekeeper’s entrance.) He was sleeping in when he wanted, and eating whatever he wanted, as much as he wanted. He was going to have to start using the building’s private gym pretty damn soon or he was going to get fat.

Which was why, when J had come by the penthouse that morning to drag a protesting Pietro out to the studio to re-record “Order and Chaos” because J hadn’t liked the way the guitar sounded, Bucky had impulsively decided to tag along. Steve was at the new school for orientation and wouldn’t be back until late afternoon, Tony was at the office, Wanda was… doing whatever it was Wanda _did_ when she wasn’t with J or at college.

Bucky had never been in a recording studio before, although it had been a dream of his, once upon a time. Before money for college got so scarce that he’d decided to join the Army to cover tuition. Before he’d lost his arm and with it, his ability to play the guitar. Friends from high school, he and Jim and James (there was a reason Bucky had stuck around as a nickname; too many goddamn Jameses in his circle of high school friends) and Tim (whom they all called Dum Dum for reasons no one could really remember), they’d formed a garage band with dreams of becoming the next Nirvana. Like most kids, he thought, looking back on his younger self with a certain degree of exasperated fondness. It hadn’t happened, of course, and Bucky couldn’t even remember anymore why they’d gone their separate ways.

They had arrived at Cherry Hill around ten, and J had immediately gotten into it with the sound director -- a burly, short man named Logan who reeked of cigars and had excessively righteous sideburns -- about the backing chorus, and something about the session singer, Jean Grey. Watching them, Bucky was left with the impression of a whirlwind talking to a boulder. Bucky mostly stayed out of it, though he’d taken J’s guitar away from him when it looked like the young singer might be tempted to go after Logan and use it as a blunt instrument.

While everyone split to their corners to nurse their wounds -- Logan had stomped off and come back with coffee and doughnuts, claiming that J’s low blood sugar was the problem, a clever move for someone who called people ‘bub’ and acted like an angry weed whacker -- Bucky had found himself with a guitar in his lap for the first time in most of a decade. The silver Les Paul was a beautiful instrument.

He hadn’t played in so long all his callouses were gone. He’d gotten new ones, learning how to do a number of chores with his good right hand, and then again when the prosthetic came along, but neither set was going to keep him from bleeding out his fingertips if he practiced on a steel-string. He’d poked around in J’s stuff until he came up with a guitar pick. The new metal hand was so much faster and more responsive to his thoughts. The feedback from the fingers was so good he could feel the minute vibrations in the strings.

Without entirely deciding that he was going to do it, Bucky had found himself plucking out an old melody, a song he’d learned from a friend in Afghanistan. He had to go over it several times -- he’d never had sheet music for the piece, and it had been years since he played it, but as it was the song he’d used to sing Steve to sleep for years, he was pretty familiar with the melody.

The elevator opened, interrupting Bucky’s replay of the moment, and Bucky ran up the stairs at a quick jog, and used his key and thumbprint to open the door to Tony’s penthouse.

“Why do you always come in the back door?” Tony said as he came in. “You’re not one of the staff.”

Bucky shrugged, not thrown off by that at all, although he might have been, if Tony had said it earlier. “I like lookin’ out over the city,” Bucky said.

“In another life, you were a dictator with your own little nation?” Tony suggested.

“No, you’re mistaking your past life for mine,” Bucky said. He darted forward and kissed Tony’s cheek, feeling a little more daring than normal. They’d sort of had sex a few times, if Bucky could call a few quick hand-jobs and getting blown twice _sex_ but Tony kept shying away from anything that Bucky considered a normal part of intimacy, the stuff that wasn’t sex but that happened in the spaces between a couple.

They were living together, dating, and yet… there was this distance. He couldn’t decide if Tony didn’t want to get closer, or if he didn’t have the slightest idea how. Or even, perhaps, that he didn’t know it was possible at all. Bucky had picked up a bit of that from his old man; Big Jim hadn’t been the sort to ask for things; when he wanted the potatoes at dinner, he’d just stared at them until Bucky’s ma had passed them over. The first time Bucky had tried that with Sarah, she’d laughed at him and moved the rolls further away. _You want something, Jamie, you ask for it. You ain’t Big Jim and I ain’t your mama._ With that in mind, Bucky opened his mouth to say something -- he wasn’t even sure what, yet, but Tony interrupted him.

“You seem in a good mood, today,” Tony said.

“Hung out with J and Pietro a bit,” Bucky said. “Wanted to see what trouble they were up to with the recording.”

“Yeah?” Tony said. He moved to the bar and Bucky couldn’t help but check the clock: a little after three.

He grimaced; Bucky had been watching Tony’s behavior slip, rolling backward like Sisyphus’s stone, a little bit at a time, but inevitable. He pushed it aside for later; it was too nice a day to get into it now. “Aside from nearly coming to blows with some little sound guy --”

“The Wolverine?” Tony asked, eyebrows going up. “Brave kid, if he’s yelling at Logan about making a record sound perfect. You do not fuck with perfection, and you do not tell Logan what to do.”

“Well, no one told J that. They seem to be working it out when I left, though.”

“If J gets a single note through and the record sells, I guarantee you that in five years, J will be producing and mixing, not singing,” Tony said, leaning back against the bar with his whiskey in one hand. “Logan’s a tyrant, but he recognizes talent.”

“That’s a bet I’ll put money on,” Bucky said. “I left because J was about ready to murder me for touching his baby. Doesn’t matter how talented he is, J’s not going to give up singing. Not for anything.”

“So, you were playing again,” Tony said, rubbing his hands together. “Any good? The arm’s working out for you? That’s great.” And Bucky watched with delight as Tony’s eyes lit up, the smile that came to his lips softening into something more natural, and he actually put his drink down to come closer and run a hand lightly up the cybernetic arm. He turned Bucky’s hand over, inspected the fingers. “You can play with your hand like this? I mean, it sounds okay? I’m not much of a musician, but I imagine --”

“There’s a rough edge to the notes,” Bucky admitted. “It’s got a kinda Steve Reynolds sound going on, not bad, though.” He pulled out his phone. “Pietro recorded some of it, if you want to listen.”

Bucky tried not to wince too badly when the music came up; he’d been running scales a bit, trying to get the feel for J’s baby when his fingers wandered into the opening notes and he’d gone ahead and played it. He was so out of practice, it started out really rough and not quite at the right tempo, but once he’d finished the opening and gotten to the lyrics, it started sounding like music.

The song had been a favorite of Steve’s when he was a baby.

The first few months after Steve was born, Sarah had sung to him every night. Bucky remembered lying on the sofa, turning the volume down on the television so he could hear her voice, and it soothed him as much as it comforted their son. Then Sarah had stopped singing. Bucky had thought she was just tired; her milk had dried up, and she was back at work again. So he’d done what he could, taken on what duties he’d been able to manage with one hand. Rocking Steve to sleep and singing, that was something he could do.

After the first verse, Steve himself came in through the door, Tony’s driver right behind him, and Steve stopped just inside, dropping his backpack and staring at Tony with Bucky’s phone as if shocked into stillness. 

 _When missing her is all I do, the days all pass me by_  
_like these dreams of Mississippi and these ghosts who cannot lie._  
_Oh, this ring rests on my finger like a veve on a wall_  
_and whispers gather 'round me, come to dance when darkness falls._  
_Everything I see adds up to say the tale is tall,_  
_but back into her arms is really not that far to fall._  
_There is moonlight on the river where I never thought I'd go._ _  
_ There's a dream of Mississippi that I never tell a soul.

“No, no, no,” Steve yelled, running at Tony suddenly and snatching the phone away from him. “That’s _Mama’s_ song!”

“Steve!” Bucky said, shocked at Steve’s unexpected behavior. The music died as Steve managed to stab at something on the screen that stopped the video.

“That’s Mama’s song,” Steve insisted. “You’re not supposed to sing it for anyone else!”

“Stevie, no, honey,” Bucky squatted a bit, listening to his knees pop and thinking he was getting too damn old for this. “Music is for _everyone_.”

“But that’s _her song_ , Daddy,” Steve said, tears starting, his lip quivering. “You sing it to me because she can’t, anymore.”

“Oh, baby,” Bucky said, and drew his son into his arms. “I sing it to _remember_ her.”

For just a moment, Steve’s body stiffened and Bucky braced himself to deal with a Steven Grant Barnes temper tantrum; he didn’t have them often, but when he did, they were legendary, the sort of thing that made single women swear off child-bearing for the rest of their days, and made Bucky wonder if people could hear his kid all the way in Jersey.

Instead, Steve hitched in a breath, looked up at his father, “Do you still love her?”

“Of course, honey,” Bucky said around the ache in his chest. “I will always love your mama. _Always_.”

Steve sniffled, loud and wet, but he seemed convinced of Bucky’s sincerity. “Sorry I yelled at you,” he said.

“You’re forgiven,” Bucky said. “You should probably say sorry to Mr. Tony, too.”

Tony, who was trying to sidle out of the room unobtrusively, looked a little guilty. “No, it’s okay,” he said, holding up one hand. “Nothing to be sorry for.”

Bucky nudged his son. “What do you think would be a good way to make up for it, Stevie?”

Steve hitched in another breath, looked a hair’s breadth away from rebelling, then let all the air out of his chest with an exasperated wheeze. Bucky knew telepathy was a thing, because he could clearly hear his son thinking _God, DAAAAAAAAAAAD_. “We could watch it together?”

“That’s a very good idea, I think,” Bucky said. He picked his phone up off the floor and made a _get over here and act like an adult_ glare in Tony’s direction.

Telepathy. It was a thing. Because Tony was clearly thinking _I do what I want_.

“Don’t make me call Darcy, Tony,” Bucky threatened.

“Unfair,” Tony said. “You are a dirty cheater.” But he huffed and came back into the living room.

“Yep.” And Bucky sat down on the sofa, and his two favorite boys curled up, one on either side, to watch the damn video.

* * *

Bucky opened the magazine that Darcy had thrust at him, looked at the close-up of his own face, biting his lip, an expression that made him look younger and more uncertain than he’d like, but also kinda like a young pop-star.

_Hero in Paradise, The Story of “Bucky” Barnes_

\-- Christine Everhart

> Anthony Edward Stark and James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes‘ unique displays of affection make them seem like a perfect match. It would be hard to find two people from more different backgrounds, but reporter Christine Everhart got a good look at what goes on behind the scenes in Tony’s penthouse.  
>    
>  In the wake of Barnes’s tabloid introduction to the glam world of Tony Stark’s playboy lifestyle, Barnes opened up to _Profile, Weekly_ about his past in the military, current hardships, and plans for the future.
> 
> Barnes, 37, revealed that although his and Stark’s relationship started off with a casual date, he was pretty serious about seeing where they could go, despite their different interests and lifestyles. “Tony’s a great guy, you know,” Barnes said. “I wouldn’t call him down-to-earth, no, but he makes me laugh. I haven’t had a lot of that in my life, and I can’t tell you how much I missed it. Being happy. It’s pretty miraculous.” When asked if he thought Stark’s vast fortune was part of what was making him happy, Barnes was pretty adamant, “To be honest, the money thing… Well, it makes me  feel a little inadequate.”  
>    
>  “I never quite feel good enough for him,” he shared, adding that he’s “real uncomfortable around rich and important people.”
> 
> Certainly, Barnes isn’t taking into account his heroic and distinguished military career. Although he never ranked higher than Sergeant, Barnes was responsible for saving the lives of half his unit, when they encountered heavy fire during the offensive at Baluchi, in July, 2006, the battle that cost the sergeant his left arm.  
>    
>  Granted a replacement limb in Stark Industries’ early testing for their cybernetic prosthetics, Barnes found the quality of his life greatly increased. “Taking care of Steve -- my son -- was a lot easier once I had two arms again.” He laughed, those stormcloud-blue eyes of his bright. “To all the single parents out there, I salute you. And imagine, if you will, trying to change a diaper with one hand. Stevie was the youngest kid I knew who was toilet-trained, just to make my life a little less -- well, you know.”  
>    
>  “I like how I am,” he said. “Some people give me some side-eye about the arm, but I love it.”
> 
> Despite losing his wife in 2010, Barnes says that he has hope for the future. “Sarah gave me the best gift she ever could. I have regrets, sure; everybody does, but Stevie makes everything worthwhile.”
> 
> Barnes’s young son seems well at home in Stark’s palatial penthouse; he came in about halfway through our interview. Barnes’s heroic actions and determination are echoed in Steve Barnes, who apparently got into a playground tussle when one child used a slur against one of Steve’s friends.
> 
> These days, Barnes is spending his time working with his niece and nephew, singer and guitarist for the up and coming new band, Vision.  
>    
> 

Bucky eyed Darcy over the magazine at the last photo in the spread, one of the shirtless pictures he’d let Christine take. “This--”

“Is gorgeous,” Darcy interrupted. “Seriously, girls will swoon over it and Ty will have a lot more trouble making bad news stick to you. Everyone loves a broody hero.”

For just an instant, Tony looked up from his own copy of the magazine and met Bucky’s gaze, which did something interesting to Bucky’s stomach, but then Tony was looking down again.

_Well, maybe some people do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ### Notes
> 
> [ (inspiration picture for the news article) ](http://68.media.tumblr.com/2258416bf72273c2aaa76427e3bd1bd8/tumblr_nz3bt8uh6X1uo863ro1_1280.jpg) 
> 
> [ Dream of Mississippi, by SJ Tucker](http://music.sjtucker.com/track/dream-of-mississippi) is actually one of my favorite songs. I find both the lyrics and the melody haunting, and thought it was an appropriate piece for Bucky to sing about his dead wife. You should really take the time to go listen to this talented lady; my particular favorite songs of hers are Dreams of Mississippi, Cheshire Kitten, Ravens in the Library, and Wild River Child. Also, Truth about Ninjas is hilarious. Go… go support indie musicians!


	18. Free Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Put me down,” Tony said, grinning, relaxing. “You’ve proven your point to Rhodey, not that there was any fucking point to prove. He’s mooning over Pepper, has been for years except that I was stupid enough to get in the way.”
> 
> “It’s not about proving anything to your friend, Tony,” Bucky said, not letting Tony go, headed for the stairs. “You know, that’s the first time you’ve actually called me your boyfriend.”
> 
> “Really? I thought I… well, if you say so.” Tony eyed him over the top of his glasses. “You cannot possibly be thinking of carrying me up the stairs”
> 
> “Is that a challenge?” Bucky bounced him a little, getting a better grip, then put his foot on the first step. 
> 
> Tony squeaked, “No, really, you don’t ha--" Tony tucked his face against Bucky’s chest. “If you drop us, I don’t want to watch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is another smutty affair, after the first scene break, but you should read the first section, where Tony best friend finally shows up...

“Carol!” Tony said, holding out his arms. The captain of Tony’s private yacht, her fisherman’s cap pinning down fluffy blonde hair, hugged him. “Hey, I’m on a boat, I’m on--”

“Don’t even go all Lonely Island on me again, Tony,” Carol Danvers said, smacking his arm. “I already told you that was against the rules years ago.”

“How’s my baby doing?” Tony grinned up at the enormous yacht.

“She’s your _lady_ ,” Carol said. “She’s _my_ baby. And she’s just a sweet as a stolen kiss. Thought you weren’t gonna be out all summer. I was just getting the expansion done on the kitchen in Charleston when I got your call.”

“Trip up went smooth?”

“Yeah, the new engine’s top-notch, as always.”

“Anya with you?”

“She wouldn’t miss it, Tones,” Carol said. She glanced over Tony’s shoulder to the rest of his group.

“So, Carol, this is Bucky, his son Steve, the twins, Wanda and Pietro Maximoff, Wanda’s boyfriend J, and their friend Sam Wilson. You’ve met Darcy before. And Pepper will be joining us later tonight. The other overnighters should be here soon, but --”

“Yes, Tony,” Carol said. “Pepper sent me the details earlier. And there’s one more overnighter, he’s waiting for you on the deck. Nice to meet all of you. Welcome aboard _Maria’s Marvel_.”

Tony eyed Carol suspiciously for a moment, but she looked more smug than sly. She’d just piloted up the coast from South Carolina, hadn’t been in New York all summer and… gone straight past… and suddenly Tony was running, across the gangplank, despite Carol yelling at him.

The deck chairs were out and someone was sitting in one, back to the stairs and as Tony stopped, catching his breath, a dark hand extended from the side, grabbed hold of a drink, and took a sip.

“Rhodey?” Tony pressed his hand against his chest, feeling the scar from the flutter-valve through his tee, tapping at it, a stupid habit he couldn’t seem to stop. “Sugarbear?”

“Tones,” Rhodey said, slowly getting to his feet. “What are you doing with your life, man? Getting yourself hurt like that? Give me a heart attack, why don’t you? I am… do not spill my drink, Tony --” He held the glass up, out of reach, like Tony was an over eager four-year-old, or a puppy, which was probably fair, as Tony had grabbed his best friend in an enthusiastic embrace.

Tony paused a moment, ear against Rhodey’s chest, listening to the sound of his heart. God, he hated it when Rhodey was in Afghanistan -- or Iran, or Italy, or any of the other overseas annoying places that the US military kept sending his best friend to get shot at. “Missed you.”

“This your hero?” Rhodey asked. Tony pulled back, turned, and there was Bucky, paused in the stairs, metal hand gripping the rail, which was creaking under the pressure.

“Yes,” Tony said, “my big damn hero. C’mere and say hi to Rhodey. James Barnes, this is James Rhodes.” Tony laughed. “I feel like I need the 007 theme music playing in the background or something. Platypus here is my best friend, we met at MIT when I was fourteen. And this is Bucky, my b… boyfriend.” Tony licked his lips, holding out one arm until Bucky finally curled into the other half of his embrace, eyes still shooting sparks at… oh, _shit_.      

They shook hands like rival soccer captains, crushing grips and locked stares.

Tony heaved a sigh. Jealousy on one side, suspicion on the other. It was flattering, really, but. “Hey, hey, Double-Ohs, can we be chill, hmm? Rhodey, Pepper’s going to be here later, you might want to get your dancin’ shoes on. Come on, Bucks, let’s get our stuff stowed, hmmm?”

Reluctantly, the two of them released the bruising grips they had on each other’s hands. Seriously, just no. Tony put a hand in the small of Bucky’s back and half-shoved, half-led him down into the cabins. Each one of the cabins had a small sign hanging from it, hand-painted by Carol’s wife, Anya, with the person’s name, the event, and some whimsical flowers or animals.

The loft-stateroom, where Tony always slept, was hung with the sign that read:

_Tony and Bucky_  
_Vision Nautical Tour  
_ _Maria’s Marvel, autumn 2016_

It was adorned with glittery red and gold stars. Tony bit his lip; he and Bucky still hadn’t actually slept in the same bed. They’d finally made it to Bucky’s bed for a little afternoon delight, but Bucky still slept downstairs and Tony was above him in the master. Tony hadn’t specified separate cabins, although _Maria’s Marvel_ slept 25 guests; 30 if people were friendly.

“We… er, if you want, can get you a separate room,” Tony started and Bucky glanced back over his shoulder.

“No,” Bucky said, a little fierce, then turned a slow, sinful smile in Tony’s direction that Tony felt deep in his belly. “No, this’ll be _fine_.”

Tony opened the door and was not quite taken by surprise when Bucky scooped him up and carried him in, kicking the door shut behind them.

* * *

Like everything else in Tony’s life, the loft stateroom was magnificent; the colors were sea green and sky blue, the inevitable nautical themes were understated and tasteful. The lower level was made up of a spacious living room, galley kitchen, and a bathroom. Upstairs, where the enormous bed took up most of the space, a huge, tinted-glass window looked out to the ocean. The double shower took up the rest of the room, tucked to one side of the bed. Both rooms opened up on the starboard side to a deck.

Someone had already brought their bags downstairs. “You know, sometimes I forget how much money you have,” Bucky said, “and then I see something like this.” Tony grimaced, started squirming to get down, and Bucky tightened his grip. “No, no, it’s okay, this is awesome, babe, really, something else.”

“Put me down,” Tony said, grinning, relaxing. “You’ve proven your point to Rhodey, not that there was any fucking point to prove. He’s mooning over Pepper, has been for years except that I was stupid enough to get in the way.”

“It’s not about proving anything to your friend, Tony,” Bucky said, not letting Tony go, headed for the stairs. “You know, that’s the first time you’ve actually called me your boyfriend.”

“Really? I thought I… well, if you say so.” Tony eyed him over the top of his glasses. “You cannot possibly be thinking of carrying me up the stairs”

“Is that a challenge?” Bucky bounced him a little, getting a better grip, then put his foot on the first step.

Tony squeaked, “No, really, you don’t ha--" Tony tucked his face against Bucky’s chest. “If you drop us, I don’t want to watch.”

Bucky just laughed, a little breathless, and climbed the stairs.

Tony heaved a sigh of relief when Bucky made the top landing and turned the corner. “Well, that was seriously hot. A little bit fucking terrifying, mind you, but hot.”

Bucky laid him down on the bed, kissing Tony’s forehead, his eyebrow, down the bridge of his nose. “So are you,” he said, then came down on Tony’s mouth, teasing his mouth open, tasting inside. “Hot. And a little bit terrifying.”

Tony laughed, arched up into the pressure as Bucky ran a hand down his chest. “The way you regard me is ludicrous,” Tony said. “Just a man, here, Bucky, that’s all.”

Bucky leaned down, kissed Tony’s cheek, slid over to his ear and nibbled the shell. Tony whined, his hands coming up to circle Bucky’s waist, fingers skimming over the sensitive skin there. “My man,” Bucky agreed. “You got no idea, do you, baby? How much I care about you… how special you are.” Bucky covered Tony’s face with tiny kisses, cupped the side of his cheek, ran his thumb over Tony’s lip.

Tony’s eyes went wide and soft, then narrowed, searching. “Don’t… don’t say that, if you don’t mean it, please.”

Bucky grimaced, slid closer, burying his face in the heat of Tony’s neck. “I mean it,” Bucky whispered, his chest ached, heart squeezing. “I want… Tony, I want to…” Bucky felt the blush rising in his cheeks, had no idea how to ask for what he wanted. He was thirty-seven goddamn years old and he shouldn’t be as naive and innocent as a kid, but he was, and he _wanted_ , and he had no fucking idea how to have sex with a man. He’d been faking it for a while, blowjobs were easy enough, and the tandem masturbation they’d done was hot as hell, but. God _damn_ it.

Tony cupped his hand under Bucky’s chin, those coffee-brown eyes soft and serious. “If you meant what you just said, Buck, there is nothing in the world I wouldn’t give you.”

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at that; Tony was so fucking _melodramatic_ sometimes, it was adorable. “All I want is you,” Bucky confessed. “Will… Tony, will you make love with me? Teach me how?”

Tony’s mouth dropped open, his eyes wide and suddenly vulnerable. He took a deep breath, let it out, shuddering. “Oh, baby, I _absolutely_ will.” Tony kissed him, soft, urgent, and Bucky shivered, letting Tony roll him over, anticipation, a tremor of nerves and fear mingled together to add urgency to his want. “First rule of making love; this works better without clothes.” And with a grin and a wink, Tony started working Bucky’s clothes off with slow, sensual movements, kissing each inch of exposed skin, touching, his fingers leaving waves of sensation.

“Yeah?” Bucky said, his voice rough. He’d seen Tony nude several times now, but it was always a frantic race to get where they were going, stripping each other like they were on the clock. He’d never quite taken the time to appreciate everything about the man; the smattering of chest hair around his nipples but nowhere else, the sharp curve of his hip. Tony was compact but muscular, biceps cleanly defined. The surgery scar was still sharp and red across his back, the round spot where the flutter valve had been just over his sternum was smaller. Bucky ran his hands across Tony’s back, feeling the muscles twitch under his fingertips, each inhalation of air, each heartbeat.

“Look at you,” Tony said, reverent, as Bucky stepped out of his pants and let Tony push him back down onto the bed. Tony stared down at him. The frankly appreciative expression on his face sent spikes of heat and longing through Bucky’s body; at the same time, it made him want to roll onto his side, to preserve some sort of modesty, which was stupid. He didn’t have anything Tony hadn’t seen before. Fighting his embarrassment, Bucky tucked his arms behind his head, let his legs fall open, met Tony’s gaze. He couldn’t manage it for long, biting at his lip and lowering his lashes, which drew a strangled moan from Tony’s throat.

Tony stripped the rest of the way out of his clothes, tossing them aside, then frowned as his pants hit the floor with a thunk. “Oh, there’s a… hold that thought, baby,” Tony said. He bent down, rummaging in his clothes and pulled out his phone. He tapped it a few times, then put it on the table.

“What are you doing?” Bucky asked, nervous enough to find Tony texting a little upsetting.

“Making sure we’re not bothered for the next hour or so,” Tony said. “I have a thing set up down below for your son. Told Darcy to take him to it. We’ll catch up with them.”

Bucky flushed, felt the heat rising up to his hairline; he hadn’t even thought about that. Maybe it was a side effect of Sarah having left him so soon, before Steve had even started sleeping through the night. They’d never had to think about putting time aside for sex because they weren’t _having_ it. “I am an idiot,” Bucky said, covering his face with his arm, hiding his eyes in the crook of his elbow.

He felt a soft touch on his ankle, Tony’s hand sliding slowly up his leg. Bucky shivered, but didn’t move, letting Tony do what he wanted, whatever that was. Tony’s hands, warm and sleek, long-fingered and strong, moved up his leg, over his knee, fingertips dancing along his thighs, spreading Bucky’s legs apart. “You gonna let me love you?” Tony asked, voice soft and gentle. “Let me take care of you, let me make you feel good? That’s what I want to do, take care of you, show you everything. God, you’re so beautiful.” Tony pressed a soft kiss against Bucky’s thigh, eliciting a deep, aching groan.

Tony slid upward, kissing, licking, tasting, and Bucky shivered, blindly reached for him with his free hand, found Tony’s hair and slid his fingers in it. Tony kissed Bucky’s throat, then down again, tracing his tongue along the lines of the metal arm, a shivery, aching touch. Bucky got a second’s warning of warm breath before Tony’s mouth came down over his nipple, tongue stroking the rapidly hardening flesh. Bucky arched up into the kiss, panting, god, that sent bolts of heat into his chest, down into his groin. Tony matched the rhythm with his other hand, thumbing across, teasing sensations into both nipples at once and Bucky was going to go mad with desire. “Tony, please,” Bucky begged, not even sure what he was asking for, just wanting, aching.

Tony chuckled, wickedly, and the sound went straight to Bucky’s cock, which jumped eagerly. “The second rule of making love,” Tony said, “is that we take our time. This isn’t a quick fuck in the back seat, sweetheart, this is me, giving you everything.” And he dropped his mouth back over Bucky’s nipple, tongue darting out to flick the aching flesh again and again. He drew it with a gentle tug, then stroked Bucky with his tongue, licking and suckling in a soft, clever, maddening rhythm. Bucky arched up, gasped, letting his thighs fall further apart as Tony pressed down on him.

“How…” Bucky gasped as Tony’s mouth trailed downward, wandering aimlessly over his stomach, “how many more of these rules are there?”

“As many as I need,” Tony said, paused, then dipped his mouth again, painting a broad, wet stripe down Bucky’s quivering cock.

“Oh, _god_ ,” Bucky groaned. Tony paused, long enough for Bucky to actually stop hiding his face and look down to see what he was doing, which was apparently just waiting for Bucky to look at him, because Tony gave him that sly, smug little smirk that he saved for special occasions, then opened his mouth and took in Bucky’s entire length in one wet, hot slide. “Holy… mother of Christ.”

Once he was watching, Bucky couldn’t look away, mesmerized by that dark head working between his legs, captured by the silken feel of Tony’s mouth, the lush, sinuous movements of his tongue. Tony was relentless, his mouth slick and skilled and Bucky was lost to it, couldn’t move, could only moan and toss his head as Tony worked him over, brought him close and then let him down slow.

The second time Tony did that, brought him just to the edge and then fucking _stopped_ , Bucky whimpered. “Oh, come on,” he pleaded.

“That’s the idea,” Tony said, that coy little smirk on his lips again. “You still want…”

Bucky nodded frantically, the frisson of fear that had twisted through his belly earlier long melted away in the heat of Tony’s attention.

“Okay, then,” Tony said. “Third and fourth rule together; there is no such thing as too much lube. And always, _always_ glove up. Check the bedside table, I always keep my sleeping areas well-stocked.”

Bucky didn’t want to think about that too much, the lovers and the one-night stands and the other people who Tony had brought back to his bed, but he did as he was told, rolling over to dig through the drawer. He gritted his teeth, so damn sensitive that rubbing against the comforter was killing him, and then, as he scooched forward a little more, Tony reached one hand up and ran a teasing finger in a circle around Bucky’s hole, which was really unfair, god damn… Bucky collapsed onto the bed, shivering and moaning, then cast a dark look behind him at Tony, who was giving his best _who, me?_ face.

Bucky managed to find lube and condoms in the drawer and tossed them over to Tony. “There should be some nitrile gloves in there, too,” Tony said.

“Gloves?”

Tony spread his hands. “I haven’t gotten a manicure recently, and I’m pretty sure that you don’t want to deal with a scrape in there.”

Wince. “Yeah, okay.” He dug around some more and found a packet of gloves. “Gonna make it seem more like a doctor’s appointment.”

“No, it won’t,” Tony promised; his smoldering look was enough to make Bucky weak in the knees again. Tony crawled up the bed to him, kissed Bucky again until Bucky was shivering. “You still want this, soldier?”

“I ain’t gonna change m’ mind,” Bucky protested. “I ain’t a tease, you know.”

“If that’s an accusation,” Tony said, “you’re wide of the mark. We’re not doing anything that you’re not on board for, babydoll. I’ve been on the other end of that stick, too, so, I will keep asking you, I will check in with you, and at any time if you feel like it’s too much, you’re not enjoying it, you don’t want to, you’re even not _sure_ , then we stop. No hard feelings. I won’t be upset; the only thing that will upset me is if you let me do something to you that you don’t want out of some… misguided concern for me. Your pleasure is mine. If you don’t like it, I don’t want it. Are we in agreement there?”

Bucky reached out, took Tony’s face between his hands. “I promise, I will tell you if I don’t love it,” Bucky said, then kissed him gently. “But I also promise that I will love all of it, because it’s _you_ , Tony.”

Everything, everything that they’d been through, up until that moment was suddenly and utterly worth it for the look on Tony’s face. His eyes went wide and vulnerable and his mouth trembled. “I…”

Bucky kissed him, light, teasing. “All you gotta do is love me,” he said, kissing Tony again, easy, slow, until Tony melted under his mouth, pliant and eager and whining in the back of his throat.

“I can do that,” Tony said. “Yeah, I…” Tony bore him down again, kissing and stroking and then, he slipped one glove on, fiddled with the lube. He used one lube-wet fingertip to circle around Bucky’s tight hole, which felt amazing, when it wasn’t also extremely weird and kinda invasive and a little bit on the _what the hell are you doing_ side of things.  

Then Tony’s mouth was back at work and Bucky’s hips rose of their own accord, he had nothing to do with the decision to stay still or move, and Tony was… oh, Jesus. Tony pressed his finger in, slow, steady and _holy crow,_ that. Bucky had no words for how deeply arousing that was, how much more intense everything was.

There was a slow burn, an aching stretch that went along with it, and suddenly Bucky was terrified, if this was only one finger, how was the rest of it going to feel, how could he possibly--

“Breathe, baby,” Tony said, soft and easy, against his stomach. Bucky sucked in a quick breath, held it a few seconds until his lungs burned and let it out. Tony moved again, sliding his finger in a little further with each exhale until Bucky could feel the rest of Tony's hand flush against his ass.

Slowly, Tony twisted his wrist and oh dear God, Bucky had to bite down on the pillow because he didn't even know, the jolt of pleasure speared right through him. “Yeah,” Tony murmured. “Just like that, god you're so beautiful.”

Bucky keened as Tony flexed his finger, rubbing against an excruciatingly sensitive spot deep inside. Tony curled his finger, pressing, rubbing and suddenly what had been too much was not enough, and Bucky was squirming, wanting, god, wanting more, wanting deeper, but above all, wanting _now_.

“There, there you are,” Tony said, and he’d been obviously been waiting for that, since he slid his finger out and Bucky felt even stranger, empty like he’d never been before, wanting and eager and yet for just an instant, even more alone than he’d been before Tony was in his life. Bucky opened his eyes, leaned up on his elbows to watch, needing Tony, wanting him, more than anything needing to prove that he was _real_ , that all of this was real.

Tony messed with the lube, slicking his fingers again and even in the midst of heat and passion and the dark thread of nerves, Bucky found himself wanting to laugh at Tony and Tony’s rules; _no such thing as too much lube_. Then Tony had two fingers in him and Bucky’s grin died in a pained, aching moan because it burned and yet in the best way, like the last moment before a cramp gave way to relief. Tony did something with his fingers, forked them out and Bucky jerked hard against the bed, head going back, mouth gaping open. “Tony!”

“I got you,” Tony said, leaning forward, laying kisses against Bucky’s stomach while he moved his fingers, stretching, teasing. “You good?”

“I…” Was he? Bucky wasn’t sure. It was… amazing. When he could stop _thinking_ about it and just let himself feel it. He swallowed hard, then nodded. “Could be better,” he suggested, giving Tony a slanted look.

“Yeah?” Tony raised an eyebrow, moved his fingers again, and shit, there, yes, he brushed that spot again and Bucky threw his head back like he was electrified. “Better like that, or…” and Tony moved his fingers in and out, fucking Bucky with his hand, added a third finger and shit, that… and suddenly it didn’t hurt anymore, it was… oh, god, with each push, Tony was rubbing him and Bucky was hard, straining, aching.

“Tony, Tony, please,” Bucky whimpered.

Tony gave him a searching look, and whatever he saw in Bucky’s face seemed to satisfy him. “Okay, babe. Roll over, rise up.”

In the moments it took Bucky to gather what remained of his wits, scattered as they were to the four winds, Tony stripped off the glove, unwrapped a condom and put a few drops of lube into it before slipping it on, and got behind him, helping Bucky to turn over, get on his knees.

Tony pressed a hand down in the middle of Bucky’s back, holding him still. Teasing, Tony rubbed the head of his cock at the entrance to Bucky’s hole and the noises that came from Bucky’s throat were uncontrolled, dark and needy.

Tony pushed in, slow, the head of his cock slick and hot against Bucky’s skin. He heard the distinct squeak of condom against lube; he remembered that from back in the day. Sarah had always complained about them, said condoms felt like getting fucked by a balloon, and suddenly, Bucky knew _exactly_ what she’d meant. He bit down on a sudden urge to laugh, remembering, and that brief spark of humor was absolutely what he needed. He let himself relax, just a little more, and his body accepted, rather than trying to repel the invasion.

“Oh, my god,” Tony murmured behind him, as he slid further in. “You feel so good it should be _illegal_.”

Bucky twisted his neck, cast a glance over his shoulder. Tony looked utterly, completely blissed out, eyes half-lidded in pleasure. Another inch, two, and Bucky started backing into it, trying to draw Tony deeper as his body took over, helping him find what he needed. “Christ, Tony… I need…” he whined, not knowing what he needed, not knowing how to get there, just knowing Tony was the only person who could. “Please…”

“I’m here,” Tony said, like a promise. “I’ve got you.” And he did. Tony moved, sinuous, his hips flexing, thrusting deep and short against Bucky, quick, subtle flares of pain and pleasure. Brutal, sensual pleasure raced from nerve to nerve, sending frantic messages to his brain, making it impossible to think clearly, to do anything but grab huge handfuls of the bedclothes and clutch them in his fingers.

Everything else disappeared, leaving only Tony and the incredible things he was doing to Bucky’s body. Destroying him and remaking him. There was only Tony and his quick, clever fingers dancing along Bucky’s thighs, causing him an agony of pleasure like nothing he’d ever experienced before. Bucky caught one glimpse of Tony’s face, flushed, biting his lip, eyes rolled back, before Bucky couldn’t do anything more but hang his head between his arms and gasp for air. Tony bent over him, pressing frantic kisses against his back, his spine. One warm hand slipped around his belly, curled around Bucky’s cock, gave him something to rub against, because god, he needed that, needed it like he needed air to breathe, needed the blood in his veins.

Tony’s fingers tickled against his exquisitely sensitive skin, catching him in a fierce rhythm between the movement of Tony’s hand and the thrusting of Tony’s cock. Bucky surrendered to Tony’s cadence and Tony moaned.

“Oh, now, now, Tony,” Bucky begged, pleaded, wanted. Tony sped up, his hand on Bucky’s cock tightening and he was gasping for air, swearing and praising and crying out some absolutely filthy sex-talk. Bucky’s cock swelled, harder now, so hard. Flushed with prickling excitement, Bucky fell to his elbows and that… oh, god, that was exactly perfect. Tony slammed into him, hit his prostate and Bucky was crying out into the pillow, sounds muffled and needy and, oh holy mother of god!

Bucky screamed into the pillow, absolutely unable to contain it as he came, powerful, hard. His toes curled and his vision went white and every bit of him was utterly focused on the place where their bodies joined together. He was suspended in wonder, suffused with bliss. Tony sobbed and shuddered as he released, his hips slamming greedily against Bucky’s ass as Tony thrust in, one last time, full length, drawing one more wracking shudder from Bucky in a great, voluptuous surge.

Tony ran hot fingers down Bucky’s sweat-drenched skin, causing him to shiver. “Oh, god,” Bucky muttered. “I…” He ran out of words. English was a language he supposedly spoke, but it abandoned him utterly in the face of such extraordinary feelings. “I… never…”

Tony laughed, light and exhausted, behind him. He strained, made a strange huffing whine and then pulled out. For a moment, Bucky felt utterly lost, empty, abandoned, and then weariness took over and he collapsed, face-first, flat on the bed. “You said that,” Tony remarked, tying off the condom, then snuggling up against Bucky’s side. “And you want to know something amazing?”

Bucky made a brief, sort-of-curious noise, put a little effort into it and managed to turn his head to look at Tony, blinking.

“I _have_. And I’ll tell you something, it’s never been like _that_ before.” Tony brushed a few locks of Bucky’s hair out of his face. “Most incredible… You were perfect, oh, god, _Bucky_.”

Bucky rolled his eyes halfheartedly. “Not so bad yourself,” he muttered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [On a Boat!](https://youtu.be/avaSdC0QOUM) NSFW song, but this is the joke that Tony and Carol are making in the beginning.


	19. Hand in Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You,” Wanda declared, putting her arms around Tony’s neck and sagging against him, “are my new favorite person in the whole world. If I didn’t love my uncle so much, I’d throw J over and steal you, but it’d break Uncle Bucky’s heart.”
> 
> “Hey, hey,” Bucky said, coming up, “why does all the interesting parts of the party keep shifting to where I’m not?”
> 
> Wanda grinned. “I’m stealing your boyfriend, Uncle Bucky. He’s adorable and I’m keeping him. Go away, you lost your chance.”
> 
> “The hell you are,” Bucky scoffed.

_Maria’s Marvel_ slept twenty-five to thirty guests, plus the captain and crew, but for those who weren’t staying overnight, the top three decks were open for partying and entertainment, and she could guest upwards of ninety people. Starting at three, the yacht would be open to close family and friends -- especially for those who had small children who would not want to be up all night -- and they’d take a slow tour around the island.

Amanda Carter, her daughter Peggy, and a few of Steve’s other playmates (Peter Parker, accompanied by his Aunt May, along with their neighbor, Mary-Jane Watson) arrived. Not much later came few of Steve’s new classmates, Bobby Drake, Scott and Alexander Summers, Katherine Pride, and Emma Frost, all boarder students accompanied by Professor Xavier and his assistant Hank McCoy.

Carol had taken one of the lower deck game-rooms and turned it into one of those vast and twisty gerbil mazes, full of brightly colored crawl-tunnels and roped nets. Turning eight kids loose on the playroom -- the room just across the hall held other games, including foozball, a couple of arcade games, a huge television that was showing various Disney films, and a plethora of toys -- was a recipe for the adults to all want drinks of the heavily alcoholic variety.

Bucky was just teaching Steve the intricacies of foozball when Carol escorted a couple down into the game room. Tony looked up as Bucky froze for an instant -- Stevie took full advantage to score, and when his father didn’t respond, he ran to the other side of the game, grabbed the ball, and scored a few more times -- then went to greet the woman in the door with a fierce embrace.

“Jamie,” she said, as Bucky grabbed her.

“Mags.” Bucky cupped the back of her head for a long moment, holding her to him, then let her go and looked at Erik Lehnsherr. “Erik.”

“James,” Erik said, not moving.

“Tony, hey,” Bucky said, grabbing the woman’s hand -- his sister, Tony thought, and yeah, looking at her, they were definitely related. “My sister, Magda. Mags, this is Tony.”

Magda Lehnsherr extended her hand to Tony. “Thanks for taking care of my idiot baby brother,” she said, her eyes sparkling just like Bucky’s, silver-gray and lively.

“By _nine minutes_ , God, Mags, are you ever going to let that drop,” Bucky said. He rolled his eyes at Tony.

“No,” Mags said, looking surprised. “Do you honestly expect me to? I have nine minutes, you have six inches in height on me, seems fair.”

“You’re a twin? Did you ever tell me that? How did I not know that?” Tony turned to Magda, taking her fingers. “It’s very nice to meet you. I met your husband a few weeks back --”

“Yes, Erik told me,” Mags said, looking over her shoulder at her husband. “The great Tony Stark, turning up sweet on my brother. I confess, I didn’t believe him at first. Not that Jamie’s not a hell of a catch, but I was starting to give up on the idea of him ever coming out of his shell again.”

“Ug, _Mags_ ,” Bucky said. “You kept tryin’ to set me up with the ladies from your garden club. Most of ‘em are like _sixty_.” He cast a somewhat desperate look in Tony’s direction.

Mags held a hand out to her side, then reached up and tugged Bucky’s collar to one side, hiding what Tony knew was a vivid purple lovebite. “All right, I confess, I was trying to scare you into dating again.”

“I do fine,” Bucky said, sliding an arm around Tony’s waist.

“Well, better than I could do for you, at any rate,” she said.

Steve scored another fifteen or so points against his dad before he even realized that Bucky wasn’t paying attention anymore, and then noticed his aunt and uncle. “Uncle Erik!” And Steve was across the room, arms up. Erik caught the boy, spun him around and the tense, angry look that Tony was used to seeing on Lehnsherr’s face was totally gone, replaced by a fond, happy smile as he hugged and kissed his nephew. Both Mags and Bucky exchanged one bitter, flat look, then plastered on what Tony immediately recognized as fake smiles on their face.

“Yeah, look who came to see you, kiddo,” Bucky said, ruffling his son’s hair.

And then Darcy was there, sensing the tension and doing Darcy things, like taking pictures and asking questions about Mags’s shoes and all the things that Darcy did that naturally made people like her. She got the Barnes/Maximoff/Lehnsherrs to pose for a couple of family photos, then did mix and matches, like she was planning wedding photos in her head, an activity that made Tony laugh and Erik look distinctly uncomfortable.

Finally, Steve started squirming and dragged his uncle off to look at the gerbil tunnels and persuade Erik to crawl around in the tubes with him, which was also really damn funny, because it was obvious that Erik wouldn’t refuse his nephew anything, but Erik was also a really tall, broad shouldered man, and the tunnels weren’t exactly sized for adults.

Tony escaped to the bar for a few moments and was just leaning there, watching, when Wanda came up to the bar.

“Gimme a strawberry daiquiri in a glass the size of my head,” she said. “Hey there. Drowning your sorrows?”

“I don’t have any sorrows right now,” Tony said, “just a little of the ‘moving away from awkward family stuff.’ At least most of it seems to predate me and isn’t because your uncle’s dating a man.”

“Nah,” Wanda said. “Uncle Bucky and my dad never much liked each other. It predates me and Pietro, too. We made it worse… used to play them off each other when Pietro and I were teenagers. We could always count on Uncle Bucky to butt in on our side and we resented the hell out of Dad suddenly showing up like we were supposed to respect and listen to him. Like having a step-dad, but worse. Pietro was pretty crazy when we were younger, underage drinking and driving and all these high-risk hobbies. He nearly killed himself a few years back, base-jumping. Made us all a little crazy.” She scanned the room, found her brother’s tangle of silver hair and smiled. Like a magnet, Pietro looked up and made his way to Wanda’s side.

“We are all ready for the show, Mr. Stark,” he said, eager and grinning. “The cameras are all set up, and--”

“Pretty sure that he knows,” Wanda said, “given that he set the whole thing up, Piet.” Wanda took a long sip of her drink. “Where’s J?”

Pietro grinned. “He got bit an’ took Sam off to their cabin to work on a new song. We might have somethin’ later, if J’ll let us play it. You know how he is about new music. But it’s good… they haven’t written anything together since...” Her twin made a shapeless gesture in the air, indicating Wanda.

Wanda’s eyes narrowed dangerously and she tipped her drink up again. Tony had a few seconds to wonder where she was storing it all before she set the glass down, empty.

Tony took hold of Pietro’s wrist and directed that aimless gesture at the floor underneath them. “For your sister’s sake, shall we direct the blame for that in the appropriate direction? J and Sam’s problems belong to them, and it’s unfair to put it on Wanda, okay?”

“You,” Wanda declared, putting her arms around Tony’s neck and sagging against him, “are my new favorite person in the whole world. If I didn’t love my uncle so much, I’d throw J over and steal you, but it’d break Uncle Bucky’s heart.”

“Hey, hey,” Bucky said, coming up, “why does all the interesting parts of the party keep shifting to where I’m not?”

Wanda grinned. “I’m stealing your boyfriend, Uncle Bucky. He’s adorable and I’m keeping him. Go away, you lost your chance.”

“The _hell_ you are,” Bucky scoffed.

Tony shoved Bucky’s shoulder. “Now, now,” he said. “There’s plenty of me to go ‘round.” He stretched out putting an arm around Bucky’s waist and drew him in. “Honestly, this is _the best_. All my favorite people, right here.” And that was true, God help him. Tony had _friends_. Some of them were Bucky’s friends and family, but they seemed nice, and none of them had gotten his back up -- well, except for Lehnsherr -- or seemed to want special favors. They’d come to the party not to curry favor or to Be Seen or to show off, but with the honest intentions of simply enjoying themselves. Wanda was happy to see him; the twins cared about Tony’s opinion. He had a wonderful boyfriend. _Family_.

How… lovely. Tony turned a brilliant, wide smile in Bucky’s direction and was rewarded by watching his boyfriend be dazzled by it, swaying against Tony’s side and pressing a quick, warm kiss to his mouth.

The little asshole voice in his brain wondered how long it would take before Tony would fuck it up, or Bucky would turn out to be yet another bastard with eyes on the prize, but Tony was too happy in that moment to give that voice much of an audience.

If there was heartbreak on the horizon, it was a cost Tony would willingly pay for this one, simple, shining moment.

* * *

_Maria’s Marvel_ pulled back into port, and the parents and kids who weren’t staying overnight went ashore -- Amanda and Peggy Carter were staying because Steve and Peggy were “like that” as Stevie said, crossing his fingers together to indicate how much he loved his best friend -- and the adults who were there for the drinking and the concert came aboard. They’d pilot east for a while, the band would perform, and then back to port to disembark the adults who weren’t staying. Around two in the morning, Carol would take them out one last time, where they’d stay out to sea for the night. The morning would dawn clear and cold, and Tony would climb up to the top deck to watch the sun come up, one of his favorite things. He’d probably go back to bed after that, but sunrise on the ocean was perfection.

Carol’s partner, Anya, had a buffet spread out for dinner, enough for both sets of guests, and Tony tracked down Steve, sitting with Amanda and Peggy, gesturing with a corn dog that was dripping with ketchup.

“Hey, kid,” Tony said, sitting down next to the boy, across from Amanda. “Mrs. Carter, I hope you’re enjoying yourself.”

Amanda Carter grinned. “Very much so, indeed, Mr. Stark,” she said, her voice very British and highly refined. She was an expat, married to a United States Airman. “ _Maria’s Marvel_ is a delight.”

“Glad you like it,” Tony said. “My father had her commissioned as a gift for my mother. I’ve had her refurbished a few times, but the lines are the original.”

He made small talk with Amanda for a bit longer, then turned to Steve. “Hey, I got something for you,” he said. Steve stuffed two chicken nuggets in his mouth at the same time, chewing noisily. Tony held up a shiny silver pendant on a chain; a small rectangle about as wide and long as Tony’s thumb, engraved with the Stark Industries logo on one side. He demonstrated the catch on one side; opening the pendant up to reveal a pair of digital buttons. “ _Maria’s Marvel_ is pretty big and if your dad’s up here, he might not hear you, if you need him while you’re downstairs. So, if you need either of us, just push this top button. It’ll send a message to both of our cell phones. And if it’s an emergency, push this bottom one; that’ll give us two-way speakers, so you can talk to us. Okay?”

Steve looked up at him with enormous blue eyes -- so much like his dad’s -- and pouted. “You c’d just gimme a phone,” he pointed out.

Tony suppressed a smirk; kid was a natural. Yeah, if he kept those wide, soulful looks and adorable lip-biting, he was going to be charming the crap out of people in a few short years. “Well, we can talk about that later,” he said. “For now, this is set up and much faster, in case of an emergency. It taps into the Stark Satellite network, too, on an executive priority, so you’ll always have signal. Unless you decide to go spelunking, but I wouldn’t recommend that.”

“What’s spell… spell…”

“Spelunking,” Peggy said. She folded her hands over her knee. “It means exploring caves. My daddy showed me a doc’mentry about it, th’ Lorie Caverns.”

“Luray,” Amanda corrected, absently.  

“S’what I said, mum,” Peggy said, rolling her eyes with as much exasperation as an eight-year-old girl could manage.

“Okay?” Tony jangled the pendant and Steve took it, sliding the chain over his neck. Tony tucked it into his shirt so the metal rested against his skin. There were some additional functions; the device could track respiration and heart rate, so long as it touched Steve’s skin every few minutes. Stark Tech was currently testing the model, an advanced replacement for Life-Alert’s pendant, which had limited range and often gave out false alerts if a senior forgot to tag that they were leaving the house. Nothing annoyed a senior trying desperately to maintain some sort of independence than rescue personal showing up because they forgot to check their movements with a company.

Steve stuffed another chicken nugget in his mouth. “Fanks,” he said, revealing a mouthful of chewed up chicken. There was definitely something wrong with Tony’s heart, because three months ago, he would not have found it cute or amusing. He’d have been backing away from a child and the parents of children without a single regret. Instead, he reached out and ruffled Steve’s hair. The boy grinned in response.

Yeah, Tony was turning into a complete sap. It would have sucked, except it was kinda wonderful.

* * *

It was after midnight and the band was in full swing. Moonlight spilled over the ocean and Bucky was sitting on a barstool, cuddled up against Tony’s back. He crossed his arms over Tony’s chest and rested his chin on Tony’s shoulder as they listened to the music. The tiny dancefloor was crowded, and while not everyone on _Maria’s Marvel_ was a friend, they were all friendly. The wine and beer flowed free, the buffet table was pretty well picked-over, and no one had fallen overboard (that had happened at some of Tony’s wilder parties).

Eventually, Tony led Bucky out onto the dance floor and they took a few turns. The music slowed and a familiar song rang out over the speakers. Bucky drew Tony closer until there was nothing between them but clothes and heat and as Vision played for all they were worth, Bucky leaned in close and sang in Tony’s ear. His voice was smooth like fine whiskey and shivered down Tony’s spine.

“All I have is a wish to understand…  
what it would take to be your man.”


	20. Quite Handily

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve’s chest hurt.
> 
> Deep in his lungs, he felt the wet, liquid rattle with each breath. One of his doctors at the clinic had taught him what he called Jedi Mind Tricks, and Steve had paid attention because the Jedi were cool. Steve wanted to be cool. He knew he wasn’t, might never be, but he wanted to be. So he’d learned.
> 
> His hands were behind him, bound with tape. Another piece of tape had been slapped over his mouth. That wasn’t good; it was hard enough to breathe as it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, yeah, this chapter is going back to being dark. Contains elements of violence and abuse that might be disturbing to come readers. Check the tags and skip to the end if you need a heads up before continuing.

Bucky and Steve waited at the corner; Bucky had a canvas bag of donations under one arm and Steve was clinging to his free hand.

The Helping Hands food pantry was only two blocks from the subway station where Bucky transferred to the Blue line after picking Steve up from school on the days where Tony needed his driver for other functions. Steve had practically grown up on the train and even when Happy was available, sometimes Bucky preferred the subway. The vehicle traffic in the city was terrible.

And the walk might help settle him. Bucky was feeling restless, annoyed, and worried, a combination that never sat well with him and was worse now that he didn’t really have a purpose to his days. He’d put in a few applications to local colleges. Clint had gotten that fire burning again, but by the time Stark Industries had cut Bucky his first monthly check, all the deadlines for fall semester were past.

Bucky had sat down _hard_ when he looked at that check. While the contract had specified the hourly rate plus bonuses and overtime, Bucky hadn’t actually done the math to figure out what the actual number was going to be. The check _bothered_ him, somehow. The first three days he’d had it, Bucky hadn’t even gone to the bank to deposit it in his shiny new checking account because he couldn’t stop staring at it. Fortunately, that had been a Friday, so Tony hadn’t asked, the weekend was a bad time to go to the bank, and he finally did deposit it the following Tuesday.

Since then, for the last four days, he’d opened the banking app on his phone every single day and stared at the bank balance. Like the money was going to vanish if he didn’t spend it. Of course, it definitely was going to vanish if he _did_ spend it. At the beginning of the summer, he’d have killed for a large coffee and some doughnuts as a treat, a ten-freaking-dollar purchase. Now that he had over fifty thousand dollars in the bank, he couldn’t think of a damn thing he wanted badly enough to actually _purchase_.

The light changed and they crossed the street, Bucky shifting hands around to put Steve on the inside, away from traffic. Maybe… a flicker of a smile crossed his face. Not something he usually wore while walking around in New York City because only tourists grinned, but still. Maybe he could make a trip out to SoHo and duck into Rudy’s. He hadn’t owned a guitar of his own since just out of high school. He’d pawned his battered Gibson to buy a second-hand engagement ring for Sarah.

That sounded like a plum idea. Maybe Tony would want to go with him. Bucky was just pulling his phone out when Steve yelped and went sprawling over onto the sidewalk, jerking out of Bucky’s grip.

Steve rocked back on his knees and stared at his hands; both palms were scraped and bleeding and the knees on his pants were torn out.

Bucky dropped to one knee and set the bag of donations on the sidewalk next to him, just before Steve’s quivering lip worked itself all the way into a screaming wail. Bucky took Steve’s wrist in his hand, turning it over to look at the scrapes. He froze, spotting the dark muzzle of a handgun directed at Steve’s head.

“Ditch the phone, Daddy,” the man with the gun said. Bucky let it slip between his fingers. The screen cracked when it hit the sidewalk. He tipped his chin up. There were two men. The one holding the gun was unfamiliar. The other… was Killian, barely recognizable with his jaw still wired shut.

Shit. Shit, shit.

The gun never moved off Steve. The man holding it, Bucky realized dimly, was probably Tiberius Stone.

“I want to impress upon you, Mr. Barnes,” Stone said, “how very important it is that you encourage your brat to shut up. Right now.”

“Steve,” Bucky said, careful, not looking around, not drawing any unnecessary attention. “Hey, hey, you’re okay.”

Steve nodded. He was pretty good about suppressing tears; crying always made his asthma worse, often triggering severe attacks that could land him in the hospital. Having been tubed once, he wasn’t eager to repeat the experience. He gulped down his tears and reached for Bucky. Before Bucky could take him, Killian wrapped a meaty hand around Steve’s shoulder and jerked him away from his father.

“Hey! Come on,” Bucky said. He took a step forward. Killian’s weapon appeared under Steve’s chin. Bucky froze again.

“Let’s not get excited,” Stone said. “Just do what we say and this will all be over in a few hours.”

Yeah, right.

Bucky shuddered, swallowing rising bile. “Please.” He knew it was the wrong thing to say as soon as the word left his mouth. Stone’s eyes gleamed with triumph. Killian drew Steve back into the alley and Stone kept Bucky pinned there, almost still on the street, his gun discretely pointed at Bucky’s gut.

“You know this is a bad plan, right?” Bucky said. “What you’re doing? Bad, with a capital B?”

“Shut up,” Stone snapped. “Come on, nice and slow. I really do want to shoot you, so feel free to try to play hero again.” He paused to scoop up Bucky's phone.

Of course Ty had a van. It was inevitable. Cliche. Stereotypical. Bucky almost expected to find Killian offering Steve a candy bar. His stomach twisted with revulsion and fear. Stone nudged him with the muzzle of the gun. “Get in.” Bucky reached for the door handle and could see his fingers shaking. The tremors rattled up from his legs, twisting in his bowels and making his breath catch in his lungs.

Deployment in Afghanistan hadn’t been this terrifying. Waking up in the hospital with no arm hadn’t made him this sick. Losing Sarah… that was close to what he was feeling now. Simultaneously wanting to vomit, scream, and cry all at the same time.

He got in the van. Killian was holding Steve in his lap, the muzzle of his gun digging into Steve’s chin, leaving a red mark there.

“Really? You’re gonna terrorize a kid because you’re pissed with Stark?” Bucky asked, meeting Killian’s gaze. “You didn’t seem that much of a coward the last time we met.”

Killian didn’t answer him.

“I really hate this guy,” Stone said, conversationally. Bucky had about half a second’s warning before Stone pistol-whipped him. Pain exploded across his face and he fell into the van. Steve screamed, loud and then muffled. Bucky got a hand under himself to push up. Pain lanced through his skull as another blow came down, and blackness descended.

* * *

Steve’s chest hurt.

Deep in his lungs, he felt the wet, liquid rattle with each breath. One of his doctors at the clinic had taught him what he called Jedi Mind Tricks, and Steve had paid attention because the Jedi were cool. Steve wanted to be cool. He knew he wasn’t, might never be, but he wanted to be. So he’d learned.

His hands were behind him, bound with tape. Another piece of tape had been slapped over his mouth. That wasn’t good; it was hard enough to breathe as it was.

Jedi, he thought, are calm. Centered. At peace with the Force.

He braced himself against the wall and slid down until he was sitting on the floor. The bad men hadn’t bound his feet, at least.

_I am one with the Force. The Force is with me._

_“The Force is what gives a Jedi his power. It's an energy field created by all living things. It surrounds us and penetrates us. It binds the galaxy together.”_

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Steve opened his eyes. He didn’t know where he was. So what did he know?

The room the bad men had shoved him in was barely larger than a closet. The door was one of those metal, folding kinds that had slats. Light trickled in through the slats; there were no windows. The floor was very dirty. The room smelled like dust and laundry detergent. Not good smells. They made his asthma worse.

_I am one with the Force and the Force is with me._

Steve pushed his tongue out between his lips. The tape didn’t taste good. He kept pushing, working up spit in his mouth and forcing it out.

Slowly the tape stopped sticking to his lips. He stuck his tongue out as far as he could, licking around his mouth. He forced a gap in the bottom, just over his chin. Drool slid down his throat. His mouth was really dry, but at least he could breathe through it again.

Finally, he got a corner of the tape-gag free. He rolled his head to the side, scraping his face against the wall. Last year, he and Daddy had watched a doc’mentry on Houdini, an escape artist. Steve kept waiting to see the man’s paintings, but there never were any. Instead, they’d watched as he broke free of water traps. Twisted out of handcuffs. Shook himself free from ropes. Steve had been a little disappointed at first. He liked to draw, wanted to see the _artist_.

The tape snagged against the wall, stuck there. Steve wrenched, biting down on a cry as some of his lip peeled against the tape and started bleeding. A few more painful tugs and he’d gotten the gag off.

Steve brought his knees up and blotted his chin and lip against his jeans, leaving bloody lip prints there, like the Xs and Os his momma used to sign letters to his daddy when he’d been in the Army. Steve had found them, once, after Daddy had been reading them. His momma’s handwriting had been loopy and all cursive and Steve couldn’t read joined-up writing yet. But he remembered the lipstick at the bottom, near her signature.

_I am one with the Force and the Force is with me._

He didn’t know where his daddy was. The bad men had taken him somewhere else. Had shoved Steve in this room and twisted a chain around the door.

Steve gasped for air. The wheezing quality of his breathing had gotten worse. His inhaler was in his pocket, but it might as well have been on the moon.

He took a few breaths, ignoring the pain in his belly. He pushed himself to his feet, using the wall for balance. The door was made of metal. He bumped it with his shoulder and heard the clink of chain on the other side. It was filthy-dirty. The sort of dust that would have his daddy fetching paper towels and cleaning spray. Daddy was fussy about dust. Neat-freak, Wanda called him, sometimes. Daddy had gotten mad at that. Just because they were poor didn’t mean they had to live in _squalor_.

The door was made of metal. Steve came back to that thought again, frowning. He examined the door as best he could. There wasn’t a lot of light. There was an edge, it wasn’t a solid door. He turned, rubbed the side of his hand against the edge. It was rough. A little sharp.

Sharp! Steve grinned, turned a bit more. Lined his hands up against the edge. He rubbed the tape against the edge a few times, rattling the chain. That was _loud_. He’d have to be quieter.

_I am one with the Force and the Force is with me._

The tape gave way rather faster than Steve expected; as soon as he’d torn the edge, the whole thing opened up with a soft zipping sound.

He retreated to the back corner, peeling the tape off his wrists. He tugged his inhaler out of his pocket, pulled off the cap, and triggered a blast directly into his mouth.

He wasn’t supposed to do that; he was supposed to puff the cloud in front of his lips and then inhale, but there was so much dust in the room, he didn’t want to do that. Yuck.

His chest tightened again, just a bit, like it always did. Fighting the medication. The fist around his lungs loosened, then. It didn’t go away completely; it never went away completely. But Steve could breathe easier. He was dizzy for a moment. Tucked his inhaler back in his pocket while he leaned against the wall. Sometimes, after using his medication, his heart would hurt. The inhaler increased his heart rate.

 _It’s like your damn body is fighting itself_ , Daddy had complained, once. The heart medication made his kidneys worse. The asthma medication messed up his heart. The kidney medication made him sick to his stomach. The stuff he took for needing to throw up sometimes made his asthma worse.

Steve sat down again. He wasn’t sure what to do now. As he sat, the pendant under his shirt banged against his chest.

The pendant! Of course. Steve facepalmed, a gesture Wanda had taught him that meant _Oh I am an idiot._

He pulled the chain out and opened the clasp. He pressed the bottom button.

A moment later, Mr. Tony’s voice came out of the pendant. “Steve? You okay, kiddo?”

Steve started to cry.

* * *

Bruce was just taking a bite of cheesecake when Tony’s phone gave off an unusually loud chime. Bruce lowered his chin to peer disapprovingly over the rims of his square glasses. “Guess you’re paying,” he said.

He and Bruce had lunch once a month as friends, not as colleagues. Phones were off. Work-science was off the table for discussion. They could talk about advances that other scientists were making, politics (ug), movies (always fun), and more recently, relationships. Tony was slightly worried that he was being _that guy_ talking nonstop about his new boyfriend, but Bruce didn’t seem to mind.

Tony fumbled with his phone -- he’d already lost their agreement; phones were supposed to be off during this two hour break -- so he might as well answer it. Anyone who got through several layers of Do Not Disturb obviously needed something.

StarkAlert was going off. Tony’s heart jolted; that was the emergency line he’d set up for Steve.

He thumbed the two-way communication. “Steve? You okay, kiddo?” Where the hell was Bucky? Surely Bucky was closer; Tony was all the way uptown at Bruce’s favorite restaurant.

Steve was crying.

“Hey,” Tony said, his brow furrowing. He snapped his fingers at Bruce and held out a hand. Bruce scowled impressively, and then handed over his own phone, thumbing the biometric lock. Tony brought up a web browser and logged into the StarkAlert website.

“‘M scared,” Steve said, sniffling.

“Yeah?” Tony said. He tapped in his login and sighed at how damn slow the restaurant’s wifi was. He really needed to get on that free public wifi project. “What are you scared of?”

 _Come on, come on._ The web page cycled a few times. Tony entered in his access code and passphrase.

“They hurt Daddy.”

Tony closed his eyes. His heart thudded painfully in his chest. _Don’t scare the kid any worse_. His fingers went up to tap the scar over his sternum. “Who did? Is he okay?”

“Bad men,” Steve reported, and he was wheezing. Tony heard the sound of his inhaler blasting off. “They took him away. _I don’t know_.”

“Okay, okay,” Tony said. Bruce’s phone finally presented him the information he needed; the StarkAlert pendants had a GPS locator function. “I’m here. I’m with you, Steve. It’s okay. I’m going to take care of this. What… you’re in New Jersey?”

Steve just wheezed; the inhaler was obviously not helping.

“Okay, listen,” Tony said. He tapped in Happy’s number on Bruce’s phone. He plucked a pen from his suit pocket and wrote directly on the tablecloth. _Get a team together. Coulson, Mack. NOW._ He shoved the phone at Bruce. “I’m going to come get you, honey. We’ll find your dad.” _I hope._

Bruce raised an eyebrow. “Police?”

Tony shook his head. Police were inefficient, overworked, and prone to shooting hostages. No way in fucking hell. Besides, it would take too goddamn long. Steve needed medical attention. “Steve, I want you to listen to me, okay?”

“Okay, Tony,” Steve said. “They hit Daddy. He fell over and he didn’t get up again, and I don’t know where we are and--”

“Shhh. Listen,” Tony repeated, forcing himself to be calm. Iron. _Stark men are iron_. “I want you to tuck your pendant back in your shirt. I’ll have my phone on the whole time, but don’t talk to me. Okay? I just want to be able to listen. We don’t want them to know that I’m on my way, right? They might do something bad. So I’ll listen. I’ll be with you the whole time, so you don’t have to be scared, okay? I’m not going to let anything happen to you. You trust me on that, okay?”

“Okay, Tony.”

Tony scrambled inside his suit pocket and dug out a pair of earbuds. He plugged in the jack, locked his phone and tucked it into his breast pocket, putting the earbud in. From there, he could hear Steve’s labored breathing, each inhalation accompanied by a high-pitched wheeze. Shit, shit, shit.

“Car’s here,” Bruce said. “I’ve got lunch, go, go.”

Tony nodded. He left without a look back.

“Hey boss,” Happy said, opening the door. “Mack and Coulson are on their way; they’ll take the chopper and meet us.”

“Good work,” Tony said.

* * *

Happy was just pulling into a skatepark that was a few blocks from Steve’s location when Tony got the phone call he’d been expecting for at least twenty minutes.

They used Bucky’s phone to call him, of course they did.

“Hey babydoll,” Tony said, using his best seductive tone. He clenched his stomach, holding his gut steady like he was doing crunches to keep his voice from breaking with rage.

“Tony,” Ty said. Tony could hear that smug grin and wanted to hit something. “I thought you didn’t care about me anymore. So glad to know that’s not true.”

“What are you doing with Bucky’s phone?” That time he could let all his rage seep through. Ty just laughed.

“I borrowed your little boytoy for a bit,” Ty said. “He’s… very pliable.”

“What have you done?” Flat. Emotionless. Ragingly furious just below the surface. Tony put his hand on the car’s door, trying to ground himself. He wanted Ty dead. He wanted Ty’s associates dead. He wanted to burn down Ty’s house and piss on the ashes. _Iron. Stark men are iron._

“Nothing much. Yet.” That coy tone in Ty’s voice was making Tony want to vomit. “Nothing much” could mean a whole host of really unpleasant things.

“What do you want?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Don't kill me.
> 
> So, if you're skipping ahead, the rundown is: Steve and Bucky get abducted, Ty threatens them with violence and sexual assault. Tony is notified via StarkAlert (those of you who pinged that in the comments from the last chapter, good job!) 
> 
> For those of you who read through and are just arriving. Feel free to come scream at me on tumblr of here in the comments. Also, you can blame my best friend / Beta reader / editor / co-writer for the Communal Kitchen series for the idea of the Force is with me, I am one with the Force line. I had it different, at first. So if that creeps you out, it was totally meant to :D
> 
> See you next week!


	21. Backhanded

“I just wanted you to know that I have your boyfriend. And his kid. Just that.” Ty hung up the phone and thumbed the ringer off, but Bucky could see Tony’s face flashing on the screen, trying to call back. Ty ignored it and chuckled wickedly.

Bucky was growing to hate that sound. He was sick with worry for Steve; he had no idea what they’d done with him. When he’d woken up, head aching and ears buzzing, he’d been duct-taped into a chair, arms behind his back, legs spread and tape running from his ankles to his knees, holding him to the chair legs.

Tape was… not a good choice, otherwise cops would use it instead of handcuffs or zip ties, but it was good enough, especially when Killian still had a gun trained on him.

“Go ahead and yell,” Ty had said, grinning. “I really, really want an excuse to shoot you.”

Bucky glared up at Ty but didn’t scream. He had no idea where they were; aggravating his captors without any intel seemed a poor choice. “Where’s my son?” He started working his wrists behind his back, small, semi-circles, back and forth, calm, quiet movements.

Ty jerked his chin toward the back of the room. “Out of the way,” he said. “The kid’s just extra weight and to keep you on your best behavior. Killian doesn’t really want to have to hurt him, he’s kinda soft that way. So I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t make me.” Ty moved closer, his body all lean grace and beauty. Like a serpent, he was dangerous and fascinating. Gorgeous like a Greek statue. When he smiled, Ty looked genuinely happy. Delighted, really. Bucky began to understand what Tony, love-starved and lonely, must have seen in this bastard.

“He’s just a kid, he’s got nothin’ to do with this,” Bucky said. “Please don’t hurt him.”

“I don’t want to,” Ty said. “But I will, if you make me. My primary target, of course, is Tony. But you’ll make do, for the moment.” Ty took a few steps closer and backhanded Bucky across the face. Even knowing it was coming, Bucky flinched. The back of Ty’s hand was hard, brutal across his cheek. Bucky’s neck whipped to one side with the force of the blow, his headache exploding across his temples. The chair rocked dangerously and Bucky scrambled in the minimal few inches he had to get it balanced before he toppled to the floor. He shifted his legs, pushing his legs away from the chair, careful. Very careful.

He tasted copper in his mouth and spat blood onto the floor; he’d bitten the side of his cheek.

“Pretty,” Ty observed. “You’re a stoic type, yeah? Tony would be whining by now, the little baby. He was so much fun. I miss him.”

Bucky clenched his jaw, hate burning through his guts.

Ty hit him again. And a third time.

Each time, Bucky rolled with it, letting his joints stay loose and ready, relaxing as much as he could. Tensing up made it hurt more. He’d taken a beating before. The fifth time Ty went for his face, Bucky twisted his jaw at the last second, teeth coming down on Ty’s hand. He got a pretty good bite in before Ty hit him in the gut with his free hand, forcing the air out of his lungs.

Bucky laughed, soft, ugly. “Tony’s stronger than you think he is.”

“You fucking _bit_ me,” Ty exclaimed, holding up his bloody hand with astonishment.

“Bet your ass I did,” Bucky said. “Smack me again and see if I don’t bite your damn fingers off.”

“You want me to get the kid, is that it?”

“Look, asshole, we both know this is all a show,” Bucky said. He hitched in a breath and spat more blood. “You’ve marked me up. Take your fucking picture that you’re gonna show Tony and get this fucking game going. I’ve read this script before. I know how this ends.” _With me and Steve dead. With Tony a couple million bucks short and left to mourn us._

“Huh,” Ty said. “You’re not as stupid as you look. Too bad for you.” He pulled Bucky’s battered phone out of his pocket. The screen was cracked, but Ty held it up and snapped a photo, then punched up Bucky’s contact list. Bucky heard the ping as the file sent. _Christ_.

“You want to listen to your lover beg for your life?” Ty asked, conversationally. “I can put it on speakerphone.”

_Oh, god, Tony._ Bucky shunted his gaze to the side, not answering.

Ty didn’t slap him this time; he’d learned that lesson. He walked slowly around the chair and kicked Bucky’s ankle. Hard.

Bucky grunted. He flexed the metal arm, carefully. His fingers moved, clicking the plates into place. He twisted his wrist.

“You didn’t answer the question, lover boy.” Ty circled him again, kicked him in the knee.

God, that _fucking_ hurt. Bucky clamped down, a guttural moan barely escaping his throat, leaning forward in the chair as far as he could. He twisted his arm at that last moment, too, felt the thin plates on the surface of the metal wrist biting into the tape. Bucky shook his head, then touched his tongue to his lip. “Not really, no,” he said.

Ty grabbed a handful of Bucky’s hair, jerked his head back so far that his throat was fully exposed and vulnerable. “You think you’re so tough, don’t you? Won’t scream, won’t beg, won’t ask for your lover. But I know where you’re weak. So you better give me what I want, or your kid is going to pay for it.”

He should. Bucky knew that he _should_. Beg, cry, shake. Ty was a monster, and what he fed off of was fear. This was the man who’d tortured Tony -- for years -- and Bucky was having a really hard time giving him _any_ satisfaction at all. Bucky snarled, “Yeah, well, what do you want?”

That got a smug grin out of Ty and he tugged on Bucky’s hair again. Pain crawled along Bucky’s scalp and he bared his teeth.

“That’s better,” Ty said, “but not quite good enough. I wonder what it would take to make you cry. Wanna find out?”

“Don’t you have something better to do? Like make a ransom demand?” If Bucky and Steve got out of this alive, he was really going to need to have words with Tony about getting better villains in his life. This one talked too much and was too fucking overdramatic. It would have been pathetic if Bucky hadn’t been so god damn terrified. He bent his elbows, shrugged his shoulders.

“More fun to make Tony worry about it,” Ty said. “He knows what I did to him, imagine what he thinks I must be doing to you.”

“You want someone to cry, where’s your little friend, Justin Hammer? He seemed really good at it,” Bucky pointed out.

Ty rolled his eyes in disgust. “You are no fun. Go on, Aldrich, get the kid. Let’s see if we can’t break our boy, here. Would you like that, Daddy? Watching Aldrich hurt your son? Maybe, if you beg real pretty, I might let you suck me off rather than shooting him. Sound like fun to you? Let’s see if we can get you real good at crying. I bet we can.”

“You sick fuck,” Bucky snarled, twisting as much as he could in the chair, the tape pulling at his skin. “Don’t you fucking touch him.” His voice went up, louder, as Killian disappeared down the hallway. “Steve! No, god damnit, you leave him alone!” He yanked at his arms, wrenching at his hands.

“Oh, come on, Daddy,” Ty said, grabbing his hair and practically ripping it out. “I know you can suck dick with the best of ‘em. And you don’t want Aldrich to hurt your son. Just let it happen. You know--”

Bucky threw himself backward in the chair, rocking it back onto two legs. For just a moment, it seemed that Ty would yank him back and it would all be over but the bleeding, but then the front chair leg tagged Ty in the calf and he let go. Bucky wrenched the metal arm, listening to the servos screaming, and tore the tape just before he hit the ground.

Air rushed out of his chest and his lungs were crying for oxygen, but he didn’t have time for breathing. Bucky rolled, hands free.

A quick lunge with his left hand and what was left of the chair exploded into splinters. He took a great gulp of air. Ty brought the gun to bear, but Bucky was already moving. He kicked Ty’s legs out from under him and a shot went off.

Then another, further away, and Bucky’s blood turned to ice-water. “STEVE!”

Ty pushed himself up, scrambled to his knees and brought the gun up. Bucky lunged, got the palm of his left hand flat against the muzzle. He turned his wrist, ripping the gun free from Ty’s hand, breaking Ty’s fingers in the process.

Another twist and Bucky had the gun pressed to Ty’s temple. “Call him off. Do it now.”

Ty closed his eyes, but didn’t say anything.

“I will fucking shoot you, I swear to Christ,” Bucky said. When Ty still didn’t say anything, Bucky wrenched the gun down, pulled the trigger. The pistol was a low caliber, not as explosive as Killian’s monstrosity, but it made a short, flat _whap!_ noise and then Ty started screaming. Blood gushed from the hole in his leg.

“Call. him. Off.” Bucky pressed the hot muzzle of the gun against Ty’s throat.

“Aldrich!” Ty yelled, still whimpering.

Nothing. No screaming, no gun fire, nothing.

Bucky’s heart stopped beating. He couldn’t breathe. He glanced at the gun in his hand. “ _Steve_!”

Slowly, Bucky climbed to his feet. He didn’t want… did _not_ want to see. He’d watched his own goddamn arm get blown off, seen the fingers twitching in the dust as his blood spilled down his side, but he’d never done anything harder than get to his feet, knowing that if he went down that dark hall, he might find his son’s body.

There was silence, broken only by Ty’s agonized whimpers. That man, that man was responsible for all this fear and pain. Bucky turned, very slow, the gun coming up. He pressed the muzzle against Ty’s forehead. _Go on,_ he thought, _I really, really want to shoot you._

Ty met his gaze, angry and burning with hostility and fear. His face seemed to dare Bucky to do it, dare him to finish it. To descend all the way to Ty’s level. _Go on, do it._

Bucky’s finger tightened on the trigger.

He knew exactly what would happen if he pulled the trigger. The bullet would go straight through Ty’s skull, splatter his brains all over the floor. The body would slump, just so; there wouldn’t even be enough time for Ty to scream before he was dead.

_Just like Sarah._

No. He couldn’t. Bucky could not do that to another human being, not and retain any of his own humanity. Life and death was one thing; shooting Ty now? That would be murder, no matter what justification he tried to pin on it.

“Steve,” Bucky said, shaking his head. He twisted the pistol in his hand and walked away from Ty Stone without a look back.

Killian was on his hands and knees in the hall, shivering. The doors to what might have once been a laundry room were open, but the room beyond was empty. Sticky wads of tape stuck to the floor and door.

“Where is he?” Bucky asked, bringing the gun down to point at Killian. “Where is my son?”

“Suit,” Killian muttered, his voice low and indistinct. He looked stunned and dizzy, not a threat.

“What?”

Bucky whirled, a movement in the room behind him dragging his attention away from the wounded man on the floor to a man who was climbing in the window.

Bucky blinked. A fit, middle-aged man, gently balding, wearing a suit and carrying… a taser? Was just getting his footing in the room. The man took off his aviator glasses and grinned. He looked… vaguely familiar. “Mr. Barnes?”

Killian was attempting to rise off the floor and Bucky put his foot down in the middle of the man’s back, forcing him back to the floor, not taking the gun off the newcomer. “What’s it to you?”  


“I’m Phil Coulson,” he said, putting the taser gingerly on the ground in front of him. “Mr. Stark is my boss; I’m on security team three. Ten minutes ago, I personally put your son in Mr. Stark’s car, after tasering this idiot who tried to shoot me.” He nodded toward Killian, keeping his hands in sight.

“Tony’s here?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Barnes,” Coulson said. “Your son used his medical alert necklace almost an hour ago to let us know about your predicament. We’ve been tracking him. We’re um… here to rescue you. Where’s Stone?”

Bucky jerked his chin toward the front room. “He’s wounded, but he might be able to run. Unarmed, though.”

Coulson nodded. “If you’ll let me, I’ll bring backup in through the front.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, glancing at the gun in his hand again. He lowered it halfway, still uncertain and on high alert. “Sorry.”

Coulson touched his ear. “Killian’s down. Mr. Barnes is injured, but functional. Breach the front room. Come on, sir, let’s get you out of here.”

“What about--”

Coulson grinned, recovered his taser from the floor and shot it at Killian, who went down in a drooling heap. “I really, really love getting to use this thing.”

* * *

Steve wasn’t always in a cuddly mood; as he’d been getting older, he’d been more resistant to spending long periods of time sitting in Bucky’s lap. Fortunately for Bucky’s state of mind, that wasn’t the case at the moment. As Bucky and Tony sat in Detective Jones’s office and answered questions -- carefully controlled by Tony’s exceptionally tall lawyer, Jennifer Walters -- Steve was perfectly happy to sit in Bucky’s lap the entire time, leaning against his father’s shoulder and not quite sleeping. He kept jerking himself awake as soon as his eyes drifted shut, glancing up to make sure Bucky was still exactly where Steve had left him, and then drowsing again. Bucky knew exactly how Steve felt. It would be quite a while, he imagined, before he was willing to let his son out of his sight again.

Tony wasn’t much better, honestly. He kept one hand on Bucky’s wrist for the entire interview and when Bucky slung an arm around Tony’s shoulders, he could feel his boyfriend trembling minutely.

The detective didn't mean to be thoughtless, Bucky decided; she just had a classic case of foot-in-mouth. Or maybe she was trying to make them angry in an attempt to stave off their nervous breakdowns, because he couldn’t imagine many more things that were harder to deal with than two grown men and a boy, all on the verve of various degrees of panic attack.

Bucky gave a statement. Steve said a few things, none of which Bucky wanted to hear. They had tied up a kid with asthma and stuffed him in a laundry room? Bucky almost started having a goddamn asthma attack of his own after hearing that.

“The captain is considering charging you and your security team with vigilantism,” Detective Jones said, crossing her legs. She had black combat boots on and Bucky found himself concentrating on the smashed wad of dirty pink bubblegum between her treads.

Tony gave her a flat look. “You know that’s a mistake,” he said. “You get that up in front of a jury, lady, and I’m a goddamn action hero. You think any American jury is going to convict me for tasering one guy and breaking into an abandoned building? I’ll pay for the damages, but you’re never in a million years going to get anything heavier than trespassing to stick to me. And when I go to the papers -- note that I said _when_ , not _if_ \-- the city will bury you for it.”

Jones spread her hands. “Those decisions aren’t in my wheelhouse,” she said. “Way above my paygrade.”

“What’s the captain want, in this pretend little exchange of favors for not making me pay my lawyers?” Tony leaned back in the chair, calm, cool. Bucky could still feel Tony shaking, the vibrations in the tiny couch were rattling his bones. “Because I’m telling you, I like my lawyers and I don’t mind paying them to make your captain unhappy, if he’s going to make me unhappy.” On Tony’s other side, Ms. Walters smiled a shark’s toothy grin.

“Vigilantism is dangerous, Mr. Stark,” Detective Jones said. “I’m not casting aspersions on your security, obviously; they’re very professional. That being said, if this story gets spread around, citizens who do not have their caliber of training are going to be more likely to try to jump in and that’s going to lead to people getting hurt, and I don’t think any of us wants that. You and Mr. Barnes have both made waves through your recent heroism; we’d like you to use that influence responsibly.”

“I see,” Tony said. “You want me to lie--”

“No,” Jones said. “Just… don’t make a production out of it. Can you do that, Mr. Stark? Stay out of the papers for a while? It’s an election year.”

Tony laughed. “Me? Stay out of the papers? You have got to be kidding me. Do you even know who I am?”

“Try?”

“Sister, I try every goddamn day. I have a whole fucking _team_ of people who try to keep me out of the papers. Jesus Christ,” Tony swore, getting to his feet and pacing around. “Seriously? You’re fucking kidding me?”

Bucky sighed. “Well, now you’ve done it,” he said to the detective. “Your captain’s going to be lucky if the first thing he does after he leaves here isn’t call a damn press conference.” Which Bucky totally didn’t want to do. He wanted to go back to Tony’s penthouse, have a shower to get the stink of Ty Stone off his skin, and then fall asleep on the sofa with his son sprawled out on his chest and hope to Christ that neither of them had any nightmares.

Bucky’d gotten a little bit used to the way people treated Tony like he was a package of explosives wrapped up in eccentric billionaire and quirky genius. Most of them reacted with some sort of exasperation and annoyance or, on the other end of the spectrum, laughing wildly at his bad jokes and sucking up. Jones merely leaned back in her chair with an aura of Job Well Done and winked at Bucky. She fucking _winked at him_. What the shit did that mean?

“I’m hungry,” Steve said, suddenly. Which Bucky kissed him for, because Tony’s anger melted away and Jones’s smug self-satisfaction was gone in an instant.

“If we’re not being detained,” Tony said, and waited pointedly until the detective nodded. “Then we’ll be on our way. You know where I am, if you need anything else. Aside from ‘stay out of the papers’ because if I can’t fucking manage it for my own privacy, I’m certainly not putting extra effort into it for New York City’s finest.”

“Really, what was that about?” Bucky stopped in the door as Tony led the charge toward the elevator.

Jones slipped him a business card. “This is my sister, Trish Walker. She’s a radio talk show host.”

“Oh, you are an evil, evil woman,” Bucky said, tucking the card in his front pocket.

She winked at him again.


	22. Getting the Upper Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I --” God, Bucky was standing so close, Tony could feel the heat of him seeping into the air around them. “I don’t want anyone else.” That was nothing but the truth, bald and open as it was. Pathetic and needy as it was.
> 
> “I don’t, either,” Bucky said. “Trial by fire boyfriending, remember?”
> 
> “I remember.”
> 
> “Think we’ve passed the trials, babe,” Bucky said. He leaned even closer, his lips mere inches from Tony’s. For a moment, Tony thought that sinful mouth was going to come down on his, and then Bucky stopped. “You… you really don’t know, do you? I mean, I’m looking right at you, and you don’t see it.”

_MSNBC’s Jennifer Ellis contributed to this story_

_Ty Stone, former photographer and reporter of some of the hottest gossip from New York City’s cast of millionaires, actors, and musicians, recently accused of abduction of a minor, blackmail, assault, and other crimes, was attacked and beaten on Monday by a mob of inmates at the Midstate Correctional Facility where he is being held pending his trial, currently scheduled for late February._

_Once the boyfriend and constant companion of billionaire industrialist Tony Stark, Stone came from a moderate background. He grew up along the Jersey Shore where_

“Why are you reading this shit?”

Bucky stuck his index finger in his mouth to nurse a small papercut. “Because Darcy sent it to me and you told me that I was supposed to do everything Darcy said to do?”

“Pretty sure you should never listen to anything I say,” Tony muttered. He glanced at the headline. Name sounded familiar. Oh, right, yeah, the thing with a leaked prototype StarkPhone last year that she’d tried to scoop on. “Ellis doesn’t like me. She’s trying to paint Ty all sympathetic overly-attached girlfriend syndrome. That’s not even cute when it’s YouTube videos.”

“You think she’s going to get any traction with that?”

Tony shrugged. “Maybe a little, but people are weird about kids. The criminals in jail who are most likely to be hurt by other inmates are the ones that committed crimes against children. That Ty, as a gay man, kidnapped the son of my boyfriend in some ransom-slash-revenge plot? A judge isn’t going to go easy on him, and even if he gets some sort of mitigating sentence, ten years in prison with the other inmates out to get him is going to last a lot longer than a twenty year sentence where he’s mostly left alone.”

“So, you don’t think he’s going to get out of it,” Bucky said, a statement, not a question, really. He was thumbing through the rest of the mail, sitting at the tiny corner desk that Tony had squashed into his office. It ruined the effect of the room, which Tony actually found a goddamn relief, because the interior decorator who’d put the whole thing together had delusions of fucking grandeur and the place looked and felt too much like Howard’s study for Tony to really relax or get work done. The ‘shop was where his work happened. This… this was parlor dressing. _You know, you could just redecorate the whole room._ There was a thought. Tony put a mental sticker on it to come back and examine at a later time.

“You mean do I think he can plea-bargain out of it or something?” Tony spun around lazily in his chair, dropping the clipping into the trash where it belonged. “Maybe? The case is a lot more political than it looks on the surface. Ty’s got dirt on a lot of important people, and I’m sure he’s really trying to make good on those blackmail opportunities. There’s going to be pressure on the prosecuting attorney, on the judge. And there’s no such thing as a neutral jury of peers.”

Tony dug around in his desk and pulled out a zippered bag of dried blueberries. “But, if you’re worried, a little birdie told me that Killian’s agreed to a plea deal. He’s still an asscan of epic proportion, but I don’t know that he’d have gotten mixed up in this if Ty hadn’t been directing him. Five years in a minimum security and he’ll turn state’s. I think it’s a good thing, it’ll nail the lid on Ty’s coffin.”  

“Good to know,” Bucky said. He unfolded another piece of mail, scanned the contents and put it in one stack. “So, um…”

“You know what day --” Tony said, at the same time. “No, wait, you go first, it’s okay.” Tony swallowed hard, sneaking another glance at the calendar on his desk. He’d been working his way up to this all day and Bucky kept sidelining him with conversation that was important, or urgent, or sometimes not, but Tony was having a hard time getting to the point.

Bucky waved another piece of paper. “I um… got a job offer.”

Tony blinked. That was… that might actually be an answer to his question, because what the fuck even? Tony didn’t even know that Bucky was looking for work. Looking for work was looking ahead. To a future that didn’t have a Tony in it. “Really? That’s… good? Is it good? What sort of job? Is…”

“Cool your jets, rocketman,” Bucky said, fanning himself with the piece of paper. “It’s just something I’ve been considering, you know. I don’t want to complain, I really don’t, because you do so much, but honestly, I’m getting bored. And I feel… useless, kinda.”

Yep, Tony thought, slumping back in his seat. This was the moment. Bucky knew the calendar as well as Tony did. It wasn’t random, this wasn’t a random conversation, this was _on purpose_ , this was three months to the fucking day. It’s been real, it’s been fun, gotta go, don’t call me, I’ll call you.

“So, I’ve got this enormous paycheck from SI,” Bucky continued, as if he didn’t realize he was pulling Tony’s life down around his ears, and why should he? Bucky was his own, independent person, he had a life before Tony came into it. “--and I wanted, you know, to make some sort of… I mean, meeting you was the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Wait, what?

“What?” Tony said, his mouth catching up with his brain. “Sorry, I must have missed something, because I clearly recall meeting me has involved stuff like you getting shot and kidnapped and having naked pictures online.”

Bucky tilted his head to one side and gazed at Tony from under his bangs. “Are you trying to tell me that you’re a walking disaster, Tony?”

“Um… yes?”

“Kinda sounded to me like that was what you were doing. Making a list of all the reasons why I shouldn’t consider this -- you, us. This thing. A good thing.” Bucky finger-combed his hair back. “Is there some reason you’re doin’ that?”

“Because it’s true?”

“That’s _horseshit_ , Tony,” Bucky said. There was a strange sort of fire-laced pain in Bucky’s eyes, a smoldering rage that didn’t warm, only seared and left ashes. “You know, I looked straight down the barrel at Ty’s death and I didn’t _fucking_ do it. And I see you and see what he’s done to you, and I wonder why I didn’t. I just don’t think I could kill him enough to make you better. Whole.”

“What are you even talking about, I thought we were talking about you taking a job… somewhere else.”

“That. That right there, _that_ ,” Bucky said, pointing. “I mention getting a job _offer_ and I don’t even say what it’s about or where it is, and you’ve already packed my bags and seen me off at the curb. That you think I’d just leave like that -- and don’t think I haven’t noticed you eyeballing the calendar, because I was a sniper, remember? I see everything. Even things I’d rather I didn’t.”

Well, that was almost offensive, that’s what that was. “Yeah?” Tony crossed his arms, feeling awkward and exposed as Bucky eyed him. “What is it you see?”

“I see the way you wake up at night,” Bucky said. “One moment you’re asleep, and the next, you’re awake and on high alert. Because you’ve been taught the hard way that you’re vulnerable when you’re asleep and you’re terrified. I see the way you disarm or deflect every attempt to compliment you. The way you give credit to others for work you’ve done, and take blame for everything that goes wrong. Even if Ty was only working with the tools that other people put in place for him… I wish to Christ I’d have shot him. I shot people during the war who deserved it less. Maybe if he could never hurt you again, he’d stop _haunting_ you.”

“So, what you’re saying is that I’m irredeemably broken,” Tony said, which was just whining and he fucking knew it. He was fishing for some sort of rescue here, it was hideously uncomfortable to listen to Bucky’s run-down on all his carefully cultivated coping mechanisms.

“No,” Bucky said. “What I’m saying is that you’re so used to being hurt that you’re trying to beat me to the punch. I don’t want you to do that anymore, baby, and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Tony waved a hand in front of his face. “Time out for my epic self-esteem issues,” he said. It wasn’t easy to stuff everything behind the wall; Bucky kept dragging it out, trying to shine a light on shit that was over and done and not fucking relevant anymore, and Tony just wanted to get… on with his life. Whatever that even was anymore.

“I’ll play it your way for now,” Bucky said, cautiously. “But not forever, Tony. We gotta deal with your baggage some day.”

“But not today,” Tony said. Yay, he won again. If you called it winning. If winning was what he was doing. If it wasn’t losing, if what he was doing was driving Bucky away with his insecurities and that wasn’t winning at all, that was fucking losing and-- He was doing it _again_ , goddamnit, gone full circle, zero to sixty in two-point-four seconds. He took a deep breath. “Okay. Okay. I’m listening. What… Tell me about the job offer.”

“I’ve been talking with Donnette--” Bucky started.

That name was familiar, why did Tony know that? “Donnette Glenn?”

“Yes, the Director for the Helping Hands Food bank,” Bucky said. “I see you remember her.”

Tony rolled his eyes. “Yes, I remember Donnette. I only see her once a week.”

“So, she wants to retire next year,” Bucky said. “Her daughter’s moved down to Pennsylvania and she wants to be able to spend more time with her grandbabies. So, the pantry will need a new manager, come this time next year. I’d do some on-the-job training, and the Board wants me to finish my bachelor’s. I’ve drawn up a class schedule, and I’d be able to finish within a year of starting work, so that’s acceptable to them. And it’d be giving something back to the community that helped Steve an’ me so much.”

Well, that would keep him in the city, at least. “Well, that’s very… noble of you.” That sounded condescending as fuck, but Tony wasn’t sure what the proper word would be.

Bucky chuckled. “I’m no white knight. Furthest thing from.”

“You want to talk about horseshit,” Tony said, “that’s it right there. Have you even got a clue how damn heroic you are? I mean, I’ve seen you. When someone else is at risk, you step right the fuck up. You know how rare that is? Real heroics?”

Bucky looked like he wanted to protest, and Tony was almost looking forward to throwing Bucky’s own words back at him, about diffusing and deflecting. “It’s who I am. I can’t just stand there, when I see something going wrong.”

“Must be genetic,” Tony joked. “Your son’s just like you. Wanda, too. She always wants to… fix everything.”

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “Gets us in trouble all the damn time. So, here’s the other thing, now. Killian’s off for at least five years, and probably on parole for a long damn time after that. Stone’s going up the creek. Your end of the contract is fulfilled. I’ve been here for three months, so, my end is upheld. Which makes us both free agents again.”

Tony closed his eyes. He didn’t want to look at Bucky while this happened. “Yeah, I… I know.”

“So, I guess my question is this, Tony,” Bucky said, and he was lots closer than Tony expected, his hand coming down on the arm of Tony’s chair. “Are you planning to go have an affair?”

“What? _No_!” Tony opened his eyes in shock. “That was _never_ part of the plan. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Good,” Bucky said. “I don’t think I’d react very well to that. I get jealous.”

“I --” God, Bucky was standing so close, Tony could feel the heat of him seeping into the air around them. “I don’t want anyone else.” That was nothing but the truth, bald and open as it was. Pathetic and _needy_ as it was.

“I don’t, either,” Bucky said. “Trial by fire boyfriending, remember?”

“I remember.”

“Think we’ve passed the trials, babe,” Bucky said. He leaned even closer, his lips mere inches from Tony’s. For a moment, Tony thought that sinful mouth was going to come down on his, and then Bucky stopped. “You… you really _don’t know_ , do you? I mean, I’m looking right at you, and you don’t see it.”

“See what?”

“I love you,” Bucky said, simple, plain, blunt.

Someone had knocked all the breath out of him. His lung had collapsed again. Something. Because Tony literally could not draw in air, it simply wasn’t happening. “Don’t… don’t say that… It’s hard enough without that.”

“Well, it doesn’t have to be,” Bucky said. “It doesn’t have to be hard at all, Tony. If you don’t feel the same way, if you don’t think you _could_ feel the same way, I’ll go. But if you do -- and babe, I really think you do, I hope you do. I hope what I’ve been seeing in your eyes and on your face is at least a little more than friends, then it doesn’t have to be hard, because _I’m not going anywhere._ ”

Tony floundered. “I… “

Bucky squatted down, took Tony’s hands in his. “Do you want me to stay? Stay here, with you. Not as your employee or your pretend lover, but as your boyfriend. Is that what _you_ want? You’re _allowed_ to want things, Tony, it’s okay.”

“Every single day you stay, it’s harder to face the idea of letting you go.”

“Then _don’t_ let go. I told you this before. All you gotta do is love me,” Bucky said.

It was more than that. Tony already loved him, that was easy, that part was simple. Being in love was like breathing. It was _believing_ that Tony was loved. _That_ was the problem. “I don’t know how to do this,” he confessed.

“Hate to break it to ya, babe, but I ain’t exactly an expert,” Bucky said. “We’ll figure it out as we go, just like everyone else does. One day, one problem, at a time.”

“We’ve had some pretty damn big problems,” Tony pointed out. “Just saying.”

“And I’m still here,” Bucky said. “Nothing that’s happened has done anything to change how I feel about you aside from make me care _more_. I… Tony, don’t make me go. If you care about me at all, we can make this work, I know we can.”

“Make you? Make you go? Why… I don’t want that, no. I’ve been trying to figure out how to let you leave without making a scene about it.”

“Well, you can stop rehearsing a conversation that you don’t gotta have,” Bucky said, firmly. “I ain’t leavin’. Now, are you gonna kiss me, or are you gonna continue to play devil’s advocate for a position that _nobody_ in this room is supporting?”

“I’ll take what’s behind door number one, Monty,” Tony said, and kissed Bucky with such fervor that Tony fell out of his chair and they ended up in a tangled heap under the desk. And then, since they were down there anyway, Tony found some other things he could do with his mouth.


	23. Winning Hands Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There is no summary, there is only smut

For a long moment, Bucky completely forgot about his plans to treat Tony right and do him proper because Tony was one quick-assed bastard. Bucky’s pants were down around his thighs and his cock was in Tony’s wet, slick mouth, and Tony was doing that thing he’d discovered a few weeks back that made Bucky absolutely weak with desire, twisting his neck one way and his hand the other. The combination of sensations sent brutal shivers up and down Bucky’s spine and had him clenching at the leg of Tony’s desk to hold himself in place.

“Hey, hey, come on, Tony, hold up,” Bucky finally managed, getting his hips to stop their restless, needy rocking. He drew Tony up to him, decorated his jaw with soft kisses. “You in a hurry?”

There and gone before Bucky could be positive what he was seeing, a flash of hurt, rejection, crossed Tony’s face. “You didn’t like it?”

“What?” Like that could even be possible. You’d have to be a dead man not to like the things that Tony was capable of doing with his lips and tongue and teeth. Tony got Bucky aching and needy in seconds and all the way to begging in mere minutes, on fire for Tony’s hands and mouth and cock and everything else. “‘Course I like it. Just don’t want to blow my load in two minutes.”

Tony smirked and Bucky half-expected him to start back up, fast and furious, racing Bucky to an orgasm, just to prove that he could break down all of Bucky’s hard-won control with his talented tongue. It seemed to give Tony some satisfaction to get Bucky wrung out and sweating and shaking, and the faster they could get to that point, the more Tony seemed to like it.

But Tony stood back up, drawing Bucky with him. He took Bucky’s dick in hand and stroked it, slow and easy, thumbing lightly over the ridge, and then twisting, his hand slick with his own spit. It was agonizingly tender, soft, delicious brushes against his skin that made Bucky shudder. Tony was standing very close, but his hand was the only point of contact between them and Bucky braced his arms on the desk for support.

Tony looked uncertain, like he wanted to say something but didn’t know how. The silence shimmered between them, like heat off the pavement in the summer. The way Tony licked his lips and then glanced down at his hand on Bucky’s cock frayed Bucky’s self-control, unraveled it.

Bucky surged up and grabbed Tony’s shoulders. He spun them around until he was pushing Tony against the desk, pinning Tony in place with his hands bracketing Tony’s hips, braced on the desk

Tony didn’t protest Bucky’s manhandling -- never did, and Bucky suspected Tony rather got off on it. Tony stared at him as if mesmerized. Bucky leaned over Tony, pressing his lips against Tony’s. With a soft, eager moan, Tony’s mouth opened to let Bucky in, one slow, teasing lick at a time.

Dimly aware that he was swiftly burning through the remaining shreds of his self-control, Bucky kissed Tony as if he could transmit the belief through their lips: that Tony was worthy, and wanted, and _loved_. Tony clung to him, both hands coming up to circle around Bucky’s neck, pressing against him, eager and warm and vulnerable. Tony was lost to sensation, gaze unfocused and beautiful. God, it was exactly like it should be. Love between them was effortless, easy, perfect. Every heartbeat drove Bucky closer.

Bucky cupped the back of Tony’s head, kissing him and forcing him to swoon into it. Tony’s eyes fluttered shut, his eyelashes delicate crescents on his cheek. Bucky took Tony’s mouth again and Tony went pliant and relaxed, making a soft, wanting noise that went straight to Bucky’s cock, which twitched as if to say _hey, can we get moving along now_?

Bucky grinned at his own impatience, then kissed Tony again, brushing one thumb against Tony’s cheek to change the angle, deepen the kiss. He searched Tony’s mouth, wringing sensation and sweetness from Tony’s responsive lips. Burning with lust, Bucky slid his mouth from Tony’s lip to his ear, flicking his tongue around the shell, nipping at the earlobe. “Want you, baby,” he said, his breath hot against Tony’s ear. “Want you to let me inside you.”

Tony made a strangled little noise and sagged against Bucky’s body, going weak at the knees. “Yeah, that… that sounds good, let’s do that.”

Like a bee drawn to a flower, Bucky couldn’t resist tasting Tony’s mouth again, to hone his skill against those sinful, perfect lips. Ruthless but gentle, he kissed and kissed. The pleasure just from his mouth on Tony’s, the meeting and mating of their tongues, was unimaginable.

Suffused now with an agony of need, Bucky moved his hands down Tony’s chest, stomach, hips. He tugged Tony’s dress shirt free and slid his fingers along the hot, bare skin of Tony’s belly, just over the waistband.

Bucky had to restrain himself again to remain soft and gentle rather than ripping Tony’s clothes off and getting down to it. He wanted Tony naked and spread out and glorious and screaming. His hands were shaking as he unbuttoned Tony’s shirt and tossed it aside. He ran his hands down Tony’s chest, tracing the muscles, brushing over pale, pink nipples, teasing at the small of Tony’s back, that patch of skin that made Tony gasp and press up into him. Tony grabbed a handful of Bucky’s hair and dragged his mouth into a brutal, almost punishing kiss. Bucky’s knees trembled and Tony stiffened in his embrace to support them both and then they were sprawled across Tony’s desk, heedless of the papers they shoved out of the way, the clatter of pens that spilled to the floor, the coffee mug that made a defiant sounding crash as it hit the wastepaper basket.

“Tony, Tony, Tony,” Bucky said against Tony’s neck, almost incoherent even to his own ears. He tasted the skin of Tony’s throat, licked and nipped his way down to Tony’s collarbone. He fastened his mouth there, sucking blood to the surface and leaving a little red mark like a brand. “I could spend the rest of my life kissing you.”

Tony’s lips curved into a pleased smile and Bucky groaned with need, returning to kiss him again, and they were never going to get anywhere with this because Bucky was stupidly in love with Tony’s mouth. Hot and slow, Bucky’s lips coaxed a helpless response out of Tony’s mouth. It went on, and on, until Bucky could barely breathe.

He slid his hand down, worked Tony’s pants open and pushed them away until Tony was struggling to step out of them without pulling away from their kiss, even for an instant.

Bucky was impatient, shucking out of his own clothes as if they were on fire and then helping Tony, until they were both naked and and heaving for breath. Tony moaned as Bucky slid down to lick at Tony’s nipple until it peaked and then giving the other the same treatment. He pinched and pulled at the hardened, pink flesh, rubbing the palm of his hand against the tip as Tony arched up into his touch. He eased back, sucking with light, tugging pulls until Tony was rocking against him, hips working helplessly.

“Come on, come on,” Tony grumbled. Bucky pinned his hands down to the desk to keep him from taking over, driving things at his own pace.

Bucky wanted, and he needed, but damn it, he was going to do right by Tony if it _killed_ him. And it probably would.

“You’re so gorgeous,” Bucky said, watching as Tony warmed to the compliments, his eyes growing soft and heated. “Everything about you, your skin, the way you move, every single part of you.” Bucky linked Tony’s wrists together with the prosthetic hand, kept him stretched out and held down, exploring Tony’s body with the other, teasing along his hip and running light fingers over Tony’s belly, making him suck air.

Bucky brushed his hand against Tony’s cock. Tony whimpered and bucked up against the touch. “Yeah, like that, Bucky, I want, I want that,” Tony said. Bucky teased his fingers over Tony’s prick, circling the head, stroking down the length, gently cupping Tony’s balls.

Tony’s eyes flew open and he rocked his hips against Bucky’s hand, straining to bring them closer.

Gently, Bucky swirled his thumb against Tony’s tight pucker, the muscles fluttering and shivering as Bucky rimmed the circle of muscle. “Tell me you’ve got lube in here,” Bucky begged, wanting, needing it.

“Desk drawer,” Tony said, jerking his chin, his entire body shivering with want. Bucky pressed Tony’s hands to the desk surface harder -- _stay there_ \-- before letting go to excavate the disorganized jumble of shit that cluttered up Tony’s desk. He found what he was looking for under a pile of Post-its.

Bucky coated his fingers, added an extra squirt across Tony’s hole, causing a comical shudder, and then breached Tony’s hole with one finger.

“God!”

Bucky worked his finger into Tony’s tight, hot passage, feeling the flex of Tony’s interior muscles, pulling at him, welcoming him. He drew back, added a second finger and started working Tony open with soft strokes. He curled his fingers, pressing up toward Tony’s navel and grinned as Tony hissed, whined and then jolted against the invasion.

“Like that, baby?” Bucky said, leaning down to capture Tony’s hands again, kept him helpless as Bucky worked him, slow and tender and maybe just a little evil. Bucky teased, taunted, worked a third finger in and then just stayed there, little twitches and twists to drive Tony absolutely wild. Tony shivered, tried to close his legs against the pressure, but Bucky kept him spread wide, open.

Tony writhed, wiggled, groaned, and Bucky kept teasing, drawing sensations out of him, until Tony was all but sobbing, his hips working frantically, his cock dark and dribbling precome all over his belly. “God, Bucky, please,” Tony whimpered. “God. I’m gonna pass out if you keep--” He arched up again as Bucky rubbed against his prostate.

“Then faint,” Bucky responded, kissing Tony tenderly. His mouth was gentle, soft, his whispers a barely-there puff of breath against Tony’s lips. “I’ll wait.”

“God, you’re evil, you’re terrible, you are so… oh, Christ, like that, Bucky, please, please, I need--”

“Did you want somethin’, doll?”

“Oh, god, will you _please_ fuck me?” Tony demanded, wrists twisting against Bucky’s hold until he was free. He dragged his hands recklessly down Bucky’s body, touching and stroking and encouraging.

“No,” Bucky said, easily, pressing his lips flat to keep from smiling when Tony’s eyes widened with shock and desperation.

***

Bucky was the _worst_ , Tony thought, shifting under his grip, hard and aching and needy and wanting. Worst in the best possible way, but still, Christ, he was seriously in trouble here. Bucky kept working him over, and the tension grew inside him unbearably. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to close his legs or spread them further, wanton and shameless. He rocked against Bucky’s hand, whining and pleading, but Bucky was implacable. Bucky gave Tony exactly what Bucky wanted and no more, bringing him all the way up to the edge and then leaving him there, balanced on some impossible cliff where he couldn’t fall, couldn’t back down, couldn’t relax.

Tony shivered and shuddered. He wanted, he wanted, and Bucky was torturing him, drawing it out, keeping him from reaching the peak.

When Tony squirmed free, he reached for his own cock, needing to stroke and thrust.

“No,” Bucky said, soft and easy, pulling Tony’s hand away.

“Oh, come _on_ ,” Tony protested, then hissed as Bucky went back to two fingers, the aching stretch fading, making his desire ebb a little. “What do you want from me?”

“Told you before,” Bucky said. Bucky’s fingers crooked and Tony lost the thread of the conversation as that rough fingertip pressed against his prostate, sending starburst flashes of light into his vision. Everything inside him seemed to uncoil, flowering out, breaking up into squeezing shudders, but Bucky’s fingers weren’t quite enough to clamp down on with any amount of satisfaction, not quite enough to send him over the edge. As Tony moaned and gasped, Bucky kissed him again, sucking down the sounds, tasting Tony’s pleasure and frustration. “All you gotta do --”

Now? Bucky was doing this _now_? God, that was fucking unfair, brutal, a sensual attack that left Tony feeling wrecked and raw the way sex never had before. He knew how he felt, he knew what it was that burned inside him, hotter than lust, more enduring than sex, more precious than want, but saying it? Actually saying it? Like this, naked in more ways than one, open and spread and on display?

But if he couldn’t say it now, not in this deep, perfect, beautiful moment, could he ever at all? And it would just get harder, rather than easier, the more he kept it to himself, he knew. It wasn’t like saying it would destroy it, make it untrue. Tony twisted in Bucky’s grip as Bucky did more delicious, delirious things to Tony’s body, brought him back up to the edge between pain and pleasure.

Fuck.

Why was it so hard?

He might have held out, choked on the words until Bucky’s own urges forced a surrender, but then Tony happened to look up, happened to meet Bucky’s eyes. Gorgeous, blue like heavy stormclouds ripe with rain, lined with thick, black lashes. God, Tony loved those eyes, loved the way Bucky looked at him, like he, Tony Stark, _mattered_. And it occurred to him with the force of a lightning bolt that he could fuck this up by being scared.

He’d meant to be flippant, but he couldn’t manage it. He raised a hand and brushed it over those full lips, the rasp of Bucky’s unshaven cheek a frisson of sensation against his palm. “I love you,” Tony said.

Bucky looked wrecked. His face softened, eyes filled. “Say it again,” he urged, his hand working Tony again, forcing a ragged moan out of Tony’s mouth as he stroked inside, impossibly tender, desperately sensual.

“I love you.”

“Damn straight you do,” Bucky growled, a sound of animal satisfaction. Tony cried out, arched up as Bucky fucked his fingers in and out of Tony’s ass.

“ _Now_ will you fuck me?” Tony whined.

Of course Bucky had the nerve to laugh at that, and Tony couldn’t help the broad grin that stretched across his own mouth.

“Yeah,” Bucky said, low and soft. “Okay, baby, I--” He released Tony’s wrists to rifle through the drawer again and then -- “No condoms? _Tony…_ ” Bucky made his own desperate whine at that.

Christ. Of course he had lube, Tony always had-- “Check my wallet,” Tony suggested, as coherent as he could manage.

That got a sharp look, but Bucky scrambled for Tony’s pants; the press of a familiar shape against the leather was common to every wallet of every man Tony had ever known. Bucky checked, flipping through the dividers.

“Nope.”

Shit, when had-- “Oh, the limo,” Tony said, sighing. He sat up. It’s not like he wasn’t clean, he’d gotten checked with religious fervor every six months after a few weeks of blackout drunk that he couldn’t remember back in his twenties. But it was a rule, damn it, and he never--

Bucky whined, reached down and squeezed hard at the base of his cock, wincing. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time Tony made a mad dash with lube dripping out of his ass, but… “I’m clean, if it matters,” Tony said.

“I trust you,” Bucky said, and Tony tipped his eyes up to meet Bucky’s gaze. And it wasn’t just need there, burning and desperate, but -- somehow, after everything that had happened, Bucky _trusted_ him. Tony Stark. Miracles would never cease.

“Come on, then,” Tony said, laying back and spreading himself open, heart pounding now even more wildly.

Bucky pressed against Tony’s hole, lining them up, and he finally, finally slid in, filling Tony up, one glorious inch at a time.

God, without the condom it was so much closer, so much _more_. Tony writhed and wriggled, and the heat and drag of Bucky’s cock against his inner passage was so slick and sweet.

“Oh, god,” Bucky groaned, pushing in deeper, his whole body shaking against Tony’s.

Tony felt himself clench, unable to help it, driving his hips faster, trying to urge Bucky into a more satisfying rhythm, and Bucky went with him, surrendering to their mutual need and slamming hard into Tony. Tony clutched at the edge of his desk, his legs wrapping around Bucky’s hips.

“There, there,” Tony said, urgent, his body stretching, accommodating, god, he needed, wanted. Bucky kissed Tony’s mouth, his jaw, his throat, moved in a series of eager, brutal lunges, driving them ruthlessly toward what they both needed.

Pleasure misted over Bucky’s features, emblazoned color across his cheeks and down his throat. Bucky sucked his lush lower lip into his mouth, teeth worrying at the red skin.

“Stop that, your mouth is too damn perfect to chew your lip off like that.”

Bucky laughed, breathless, startled, then leaned over to cover Tony’s mouth with his again and they remained that way, mouth to mouth and pressed tight to each other until Tony shivered and shook and pleaded with soft, needy whines. Bucky relented at last and used his hand to stroke Tony in a few, quick thrusts through Bucky’s loose-clenched fist and Tony was coming with a sharp cry.

At the last aftershock, Bucky bit down on Tony’s shoulder to muffle his own cries and rocked his load right into Tony.

“Oh, my Christ,” Bucky murmured, licking at the bruise he’d left behind on Tony’s shoulder, soothing the red and burning skin. “That was… that was…”

“Yeah,” Tony agreed, sticky and wet and thoroughly sated.

Tony ruffled a hand through Bucky’s sweat-damp hair, feeling warm and satisfied and safe. _He loves you, Stark_ , he thought, and for once, the thought didn’t scare him, or make him twitchy. For once, it wasn’t followed up with the inevitable list of reasons why Bucky _shouldn’t_ love him. It was just a fact. _The_ fact.

“Love you,” Tony said, easy this time. Exactly right. The way it should be.


	24. Epilogue - Second Hand News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad,” Steve said, grabbing a handful of Bucky’s jacket. “C’n I ride with Peggy, Dad, can I, can I, can I?”
> 
> “Steve, you’re almost twelve, not six. Can we ask a little less like you’re trying out to be George of the Jungle?”
> 
> Steve snorted, looking disgusted. “May I please ride with Mrs. Carter and Peggy? Mrs. Carter already said I could, if it was okay with you.”
> 
> “Go on, then,” Bucky said. “I’ll see you at the reception.” Steve ran off, not breathing hard at all. The new treatments, a series of injections that Steve had been getting for the last eight months, had really made a difference. Four years ago, Bucky would never have been able to afford prescriptions like that, brand-new, semi-experimental drugs, but now? Things were so much better, so different.

Tony looked so heartbreakingly good in a tux that Bucky forgot he was supposed to be looking at the bride. He couldn’t have taken his eyes off Tony if someone had paid him.

The entrance march music started and everyone else in the cathedral turned to watch as Pepper walked up the aisle, her red hair streaming out from under the veil, caught in curls and braids and dotted with flowers. Bucky glanced at her once and turned his attention back to the front of the church, where Tony was resplendent, the elegant double-vested silver-gray tux fit him to perfection. Nothing Tony ever wore was less than perfect, but this outfit was sublime, from the simple flower in his lapel to the puffed black and silver pocket handkerchief and all the way down to his polished and gleaming shoes.

Pepper made her way up the aisle, her hand light on her escort’s arm -- Bucky though it was a cousin, Pepper’s parents being long gone -- her pale skin nearly blending in with her dress.

She got to the front and her groom stepped down to take her hands in his; Pepper’d cut the bit about actually being given away, in an epic rant that she’d obviously prepared over a lot of time and was rather flabbergasted when no one had argued with her.

“It’s your wedding, Ginger Snaps,” Tony had said. “Whatever you want goes.”

“Stop starin’ at the best man, firecracker,” Clint said, leaning over and whispering in his ear. “People are gonna think you’re in love.”

Bucky shoved his brother-in-law, probably not as discreetly as he should have, given the looks he got from some of the military guys that were on the groom’s side. Air Farce assholes. Bucky gave them his best shit-eating grin and jerked his chin toward the front of the church. _Pay attention_ , that look said.

Steve, who was really too old to be squirming as much as he was, kept shifting from side to side, trying to see around the lady in front of him. To be fair, she did have an enormous hat. Of course, Steve’s interest was probably less about the wedding and more because someone had told him that the Unitarian Universalist minister who was performing the ceremony, Dr. Stephen Strange, was also a stage magician in his spare time, and Steve was convinced that it would be really cool if Dr. Strange would conjure the rings up, or spill flowers out of his wand.

After Dr. Strange called the audience to attention, he lifted a brilliantly purple hardcover book and read from a section near the middle.

“What greater thing is there for two human souls than to feel that they are joined together to strengthen each other in all labour, to minister to each other in all sorrow to share with each other in all gladness, to be one with each other in the silent unspoken memories.

“When love beckons to you, follow him, Though his ways are hard and steep, and when his wings enfold you, yield to him, Though the sword hidden among his pinions may wound you. And when he speaks to you believe him, though his voice may shatter your dreams as the north wind lays waste the garden. Love gives naught but itself and takes naught but from itself. Love possesses not nor would it be possessed: For love is sufficient unto love.

“James Rhodes and Virginia Potts, you have invited us to be with you today as witnesses to your affirmation of the happiness that you have found together, and to the pledge through which you publicly express your personal commitment to one another.  
  
“The ceremony in which we now join marks neither a beginning nor an end in your relationship, but one step in a continuing process of change and growth. Growth is an essential part of marriage as it is an essential part of life. Your relationship must keep unfolding into new dimensions, but if you can keep in step as you go forward together, your marriage will remain a source of new strength and insight.”

Bucky lost track of the ceremony after that, occupied in getting Steve to sit down and still for five minutes, for pity’s sake, and in watching Tony beam proudly as his best friend married the woman he’d been pining over for what Bucky had been told was nearly a decade.

Tony did the typical fumbling through his pockets when they got to the exchange of rings, Pepper was blushing furiously and giggling at the same time, so overjoyed at getting married that even though she was trying to glare at Tony, she failed utterly.

Finally, the rings were discovered -- exactly where Bucky had tucked them two hours before, of course -- and Pepper swore to have and hold, for better and worse, in sickness and health, in front of these witnesses, one James Rhodes, for as long as they lived.

Rhodey made the same vow, then drew the bride’s veil away from her face and tenderly kissed his wife as if it was the first time he’d ever pressed his lips to hers. On the far side of Clint, Natasha sniffled and drew a hankie out of her purse to dab at her eyes.

Strange introduced the couple to the congregation as Colonel and Mrs. Potts-Rhodes.

“And there was much rejoicing,” Clint quipped in Bucky’s ear in a terrible British accent. “Time to hit the open bar, right, firecracker?”

“Tell me about it,” Bucky said. He wasn’t even in the wedding party and the morning had been a fucking nightmare, starting with trying to _find_ Rhodey, who’d gotten so drunk at the bachelor party that he’d fallen asleep in the closet of Tony’s hotel room. And then Rhodey’s mom’s preacher had shown up and been a little indignant that Pepper had insisted on a (mostly) secular wedding.

Tony had misplaced the rings (no, he hadn’t, he was just jittery, and Bucky had found them on three separate occasions because Tony kept setting the box down and forgetting where he’d put it) and then there’d been a mistake with the flowers. The maid of honor, Maria, had handled that, and if there was something still wrong with the flowers, Bucky couldn’t tell what it was.

Bucky had repeated the only advice that Big Jim had ever given him that meant a damn, “If you’re married at the end of the service, it was a successful wedding.”

The bride and groom exited under the Arch of Sabres, then dashed around to the back of the church for photographs. Bucky sighed; the wedding party and family would be posing for a wide variety of photos, so he wouldn’t see Tony again until the reception. He grabbed a couple bottles of soap bubbles and then tried to prevent Steve from using them all up immediately.

On the other hand, once they were outside the church, Steve found Peggy and they started chasing each other around. Amanda Carter’s husband was, as it turned out, friends with Rhodes, some joint American-British airman thing. Which was great, because it gave Steve someone to annoy that wasn’t Bucky, for a few minutes, at least.

“I hear we’re going to be calling you Dr. Barnes soon,” said Tony’s friend, Bruce, coming up behind him.

Bucky waved a hand. “Another year,” he said, “and then I still have to do my defense. But yeah, school’s going well. Hey Betty, good to see you again.” He turned to greet Bruce’s wife, the daughter of Secretary Ross. Bucky was getting good at mingling with people that he’d previously considered way above his station. Betty, at least, was delightful. Secretary Ross, not so much, but the man was too busy and important to attend the wedding of a mere Colonel.

Finally, Rhodes and his wife exited the chapel under a rain of soap bubbles, while Pepper laughed and Rhodey grinned so hard it looked like his face would split in half. They stopped, kissed passionately, and then climbed into the limo. Bucky smirked as Rhodes got lost in a pile of white fluffy dress before the door shut and they drove off.

Tony draped himself around Bucky’s shoulders. “Always a bridesmaid and never a bride,” he said.

“Can’t imagine why,” Bucky said, turning and meeting Tony halfway in a quick kiss. “My boy looks amazing in a tux.” He brushed a non-existent speck off Tony’s coat.

“C’mon, let’s get to the reception, I’m _starving_.”

“Well, if you’d eaten breakfast this morning, like I told you…”

“You two sound like an old married couple already,” Clint said.

“Shut up,” Bucky said, shoving Clint again. Which started an actual pushing fight that only broke up when Natasha threatened to show them that she could, actually, carry concealed and wear a slinky red dress at the same time. Much as Bucky wanted to challenge her on that, he was afraid that his sister-in-law probably was armed and the less he knew about that, the better.

“I swear,” Natasha said, taking her husband’s arm and smacking him with her tiny pocketbook. “I don’t know how you two made it to adulthood.”

Bucky managed an offended sniff. “Excuse you, I’m still not an adult.”

“Feed me,” Tony declared, tugging on Bucky’s arm. “Or I am going to kill and eat the weakest member of the party.”

“Steve!” Bucky twisted his head around, looking for his son.

“Dad, Dad, Dad, Dad,” Steve said, grabbing a handful of Bucky’s jacket. “C’n I ride with Peggy, Dad, can I, can I, can I?”

“Steve, you’re almost _twelve_ , not six. Can we ask a little less like you’re trying out to be George of the Jungle?”

Steve snorted, looking disgusted. “May I please ride with Mrs. Carter and Peggy? Mrs. Carter already said I could, if it was okay with you.”

“Go on, then,” Bucky said. “I’ll see you at the reception.” Steve ran off, not breathing hard at all. The new treatments, a series of injections that Steve had been getting for the last eight months, had really made a difference. Four years ago, Bucky would never have been able to afford prescriptions like that, brand-new, semi-experimental drugs, but now? Things were so much better, so different.

He turned a warm smile at his boyfriend.

“What?” Tony met his gaze with a warm look. “You’re looking at me like you’re going to bite me. You ate breakfast, I remember this. You don’t have an excuse.”

“What, I can’t kiss you just because I want to?”

“Oh, absolutely, you can do that, any time you want,” Tony said.

“No, you can’t,” Clint said, shoving at the center of Bucky’s back. “Neck later. Drive now.”

Bucky put one arm around his brother-in-law, slung the other around Tony’s waist, and steered them off toward the parking lot.

***

A few hours later Bucky was nicely tipsy and well fed. He’d danced with Tony several times, taken the bride on a quick spin around the floor, and now the reception was drawing to a close.

“Why do I have to stand with the single ladies?” Bucky protested as Wanda dragged him into the crowd.

“Because you’re so much prettier than Tony, Uncle Bucky,” she said, giggling. J’s ring glittered on her finger. As the story went, she’d been managing the band on tour for so long, J had decided to make it official and hire her as the boss of him. It wasn’t a romantic proposal, as far as Bucky had been concerned, but Wanda had loved it. Four months from now, he’d be at yet another wedding.

“I have an unfair advantage,” Bucky said, grinning at the rest of the women, “as I’m a good eight inches taller than most--”

Pepper’s bouquet hit him right in the face and he caught it by surprised accident.

“That was deliberate,” one of the girls protested.

When Rhodey flicked Pepper’s garter right into Tony’s waiting hands, Bucky changed his mind. It wasn’t deliberate so much as it was a fucking clue by four.

Tony slipped the garter over his wrist like a bracelet. “You think they’re trying to tell us something?”

“Nothing I haven’t already thought about,” Bucky confessed.

“Yeah?” Tony asked. “Doesn’t say much that you’re thinking, not acting.”

“Waiting for the perfect moment,” Bucky said.

“Well, maybe this is it.”

“Wait,” Bucky said. “Am I misreading this, or did you just sort of lame-ass propose to me?”

“Somebody had to do it,” Tony said. He tipped his head to the side, grinning. “So? Will you marry me, James Barnes?”

Bucky gaped at him for a moment, then pulled his boyfriend -- his fiancee? -- into his arms. “Oh, _hell_ yes! Yes, yes, yes!”

***

_Newsday.com_

_Billionaire industrialist Anthony Stark’s publicist announced today on Twitter his engagement to longtime partner James Barnes, Director of Family Services in New York City. Barnes, a former special forces operative and widower, has one son from his previous marriage, Steven. The wedding will be held privately at Stark’s family mansion in Utica in six weeks._

“Darcy sent you more press clippings?” Tony looked up from the schematic he was adjusting.

“This one’s nicer than some of the others,” Bucky said. He leaned over and kissed Tony’s cheek. “I didn’t even have to take my shirt off.”

“Not that I’d object,” Tony pointed out.

“You want my shirt off, you do it,” Bucky said, smirking.

“Sure,” Tony said. “I’ll give you a hand with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to let readers know that the injection series that Steve gets -- Xolair -- is a very real and relatively new thing. A series of shots, Xolair, has been shown to really improve asthma over long-term. Some patients are even close to cured, after a single series. I've personally done one series of injections, 2 shots every month for 8 months. (I got them for a skin condition, which is an off-spec usage, but talking to asthmatic friends, it's done a LOT for them too.) Some of my friends who have severe or resistant asthma have to be treated with the injection series more than once, but even the quality of life improvement for a year's worth of living asthma free before starting the injections again can be incredible.
> 
> Unfortunately, these injections are really expensive, but the pharmacy company can help you with the payments. There are risks, like with every medication; some people can become extremely allergic to the injection and have anaphalactic shock, which can be life threatening, even fatal. 
> 
> That being said, new developments are being made all the time in asthma treatment, and with a proper amount of healthcare, a kid like Steve could have a much higher quality of life.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who's been reading this novel; I've been so delighted by all your comments and kudos!


	25. Stocking Stuffer Redirect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> a quick redirect

Dear Readers,

 

I've added a post-post script to this novel, just a little ficlet, but since this AU doesn't have a series, I wanted to make sure that you all who were subscribed didn't miss it...

 

[You can find it here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13057782)


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